Through the Sea
by HeroicDean
Summary: AU. The pain is intensifying with each breath twelve-year-old Dean Winchester takes. What leads up to this fateful hunt? How will he survive a hunt gone wrong? How will his family survive through the challenges that only seem to grow bigger in size? The a
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

How many times had Dean Winchester been faced with something that was truly evil? How often did he run head-first into the line of fire instead of running _away_ from it? How many times did he disregard his own need for protection in favor of those who needed it? Too many times to count in the several years since his family-his _new_ family-began training him in the life after he found out that unfortunate truth from one of his closest confidantes and his guardian, Caleb. Hunting, using guns and knives to further his chances of survival was something he was used to.

It was something that called to him; something that centered him to the ground more than anything else could. Being a twelve-year-old and already having an impressive amount of knowledge on the complicated way the different weapons worked, was not anything he knew should be happening to anyone else but him. In the life he lived where he was routinely counted on to react at a seconds notice to what was happening, it was hard for him to think of any other kid embracing it like he did.

Thanks to the careful training Caleb did with him down in their basement after his school ended, he learned to hone the skills he needed for survival. Those times down in the basement in their workout room, also served another purpose and that was to deepen the bond he shared with his guardian. In difficult times where Dean felt the keening sense of loss that eclipsed him from the death of his parents, Caleb would be there to offer a supportive word and a hug that nearly crushed Dean's bones.

He needed that; needed to know he was okay when there were days he honestly could not see it for himself. Those days were few and far between the good days he had. Training (and more importantly working on the supernatural ability he had to project a protective force-field around those he loved) was one of the highlights of his day.

The force field was a rare ability that garnered its power from the love Dean felt for those around him. Even though Dean could barely remember the first time he used it when he was five, he grew to appreciate its unique power and what it offered him. The one thing he could not yet master was how to wrap its embrace around _himself_. He had made great strides in strengthening the power of it for those around him, but could not yet figure out how to make it so that _he_ would be secured in a fight.

He needed to figure it out. Badly.

Lying in the cold and hard box that was supposed to be his coffin, and the underground cellar that was supposed to be his grave, he could not comprehend the situation he was in. In a way, he supposed it was his own fault for getting too close to the enemy. For not realizing before it was too late that he was becoming friends with someone who would eventually prove to be the cause of his death. For the first time in his life, he felt the pull from the other side. Felt his energy disappear as quickly and surely as his ability to draw breath around the critical wounds.

The shield was no use; not when he could not even muster enough strength to enact it. Self-disgust and self-loathing was what he felt in that instant as his bound hands came in contact with the copious amount of blood that was on his stomach and chest. He needed help desperately, but he was not even sure his family knew where he was. It was a mistake not telling them where he was headed, and it was one he figured he would end up paying for by dying a cold and cruel death.

Somewhere in the room that was devoid of any kind of life other than the few ants that he saw scurrying above him, he heard the door to the cellar open. The light momentarily seeped through the cracks in the closed coffin. Hoping against hope it was his family come to save him from certain death, he could feel his breath inhale in a painful gasp when he saw the last person on the planet he wanted to see in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

_One week earlier._

If there was one thing the twelve-year-old child relished with all of his heart and soul, it was getting the chance to do something that he loved. Something that also succeeded in ridding him of the access energy that was pent-up after a long day of doing nothing but sitting in a long class while his mind was with the training that he loved to do. Being able to wander downstairs into the spacious basement his family reserved for working out when they needed to brush up on their skills, was priceless to the child when he needed all the help he could get at releasing some of that energy. Having the outlet he had to kick, hit, and punch something (or someone) was his drug of choice for those lazy afternoons where he did not have anything to do.

His first choice of trainer was his guardian and confidante, Caleb Rivers. Being able to have someone who he felt completely comfortable confiding even the smallest details of his life, was a weight off his shoulders he never even realized was there before he started feeling comfortable enough to talk to him. Dean was not even sure _why_ he felt as comfortable as he did with his guardian. Perhaps it was because they both had similar pain with losing their family. Or maybe it was because he was able to relate to him on a personal level that few people would ever be able to understand.

Whatever the cause of him feeling relaxed enough to let his walls down for those brief moments where he and Caleb were alone and ready to talk to each other, he felt a release that he knew was vital to him. Caleb was the guardian who put everything aside to run to his side the instant CPS called him to inform him that his father was missing. Caleb was the one who set in motion the right proceedings to get custody of him and Sam. And Caleb was the one who carefully trained him in the ways of the supernatural when avoiding telling him the painful truth, simply was not an option any longer.

Even though Dean could hardly remember that cruel time when he was six and having to contend with the truth that monsters did not exist in movies anymore, he was bolstered by the support and confidence Caleb had in him. Although he could no longer live through life living in ignorance of what existed in secret, he was ready to face whatever life threw at him. At the tender age of six, Caleb started the delicate process of introducing him to the world of evil. Training in all things supernatural was one of the first lessons he learned down in the basement. Perfecting a punch, learning kicks, and everything in between dominated his early lessons with Caleb.

The major joy of his life came when Caleb and his other guardian Jim Murphy, decided he was ready to accompany them on a salt-and-burn job. Standing above the dug grave where Caleb pried open the casket with a crowbar, he could not contain his excitement when he was counted on to throw the match. That was when he was seven and still in the early stages of readying himself to do more complicated jobs. Some of those jobs, he learned, would not come until he was much older and able to effectively pull off the right steps needed to do it.

For that moment he contented himself with learning everything he could. Hunting was not simply a hobby he enjoyed where he could also help people. It was also a crucial place for him to abandon some of his anger and frustration. Getting the opportunity to tuck a knife into his belt, and pick up a gun to fire a round at a ghost, was special to him. Hunting was a way for him to release his anger and get the job done. Without it, Dean had no clue where he would be. Certainly he would not have the chance to see things that most people only dreamed about in their nightmares.

One other purpose his daily training sessions with Caleb accomplished, was teaching him how to use his unique "gift" as Jim called it. When he was five and had been kidnapped by demons from the courthouse where Caleb was trying to convince a judge to give him custody, he developed the rare gift of being able to project a force-field around those he shared a strong emotional connection to. When the demon was about to launch an attack at Caleb from behind, Dean could feel himself panic at the thought of losing him. When that emotional tether was knit in place, he could feel something come from him and expand to wrap around Caleb.

At the time, he could remember feeling confused about why he was able to do something so powerful. Once Bobby and Caleb further investigated the origin behind his new-found ability, they discovered through a special connection to them, that this was only born out of a child desperate enough to protect those he or she loved. Although rare, the ability to create a force-field around those people, was important for those who lived in a dangerous world. For Dean, it was the chance to keep his loved ones safe when he finally _did_ learn the truth about his legacy as a hunter.

The one aspect of the gift that he found himself frustrated with, was his inability to shield himself with it. Although he knew the ability worked exceptionally well with those he wanted to keep safe, he could not make it work inward to go around himself. If he was going to grow in his ability, learn how to make it retreat backwards to allow its owner the chance for protection, he would have to train harder to make it possible. For some reason, that was the one thing that ended up being nearly impossible for him to do.

Walking down the stairs after school with his backpack slung over his shoulder, he could feel the smile grace his face when he realized what he was about to do. Grinning when he noticed Sam lounging on the sofa that was pushed back against the wall, he made a point of going over and punching him in the shoulder. At nearly nine-years-old Sam already held knowledge of what his family did when they went out someplace. It was because his brother found the journal their dad started keeping before he died. When that happened and his brother started questioning him about the things he could not help, he knew his brother's blissful innocence was now shattered with that revelation.

"Hey, dude," Dean said, turning away from his brother to get the workout equipment out of the storage bin they used.

Sam looked up from the book he was reading. His expression was carefully arranged into one of a mild curiosity at the afternoon events. Dean had to remember that Sam's knowledge of the supernatural only came recently. His little brother was still struggling to figure out how he should feel about what he found out, and how he could stay safe. It made his older brother fervently wish he could hold the answers, that he could figure out a way to keep Sam safe from the numerous horrors in the world.

Caleb was going to start working with Sam once he felt more comfortable with what he found out. In the meantime, both Caleb and Dean were determined to provide as much emotional support for the traumatized child as they could. Sam was able to recover from the initial shock of finding out something that was as unexpected as that, but he was grappling with the world that he had no clue even existed. In his expressive eyes, Dean was able to pick up a look of anger and even fear.

"Hi," Sam said, putting his book aside. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to tap dance. Answer your question?" Dean deadpanned.

Sam narrowed his eyes at him in that way he did when he knew Dean was teasing him. "No you're not. You're working out."

"Then why did you ask?" Dean demanded, the seriousness of his tone was lost when it was intercepted by a laugh.

Sam shrugged and hopped off the couch. His movements were faster than Dean's, and he owed that to his little brother not being as sore as him after doing a salt-and-burn the previous night. Now that Sam held knowledge of what his family did for the people they told him they were helping, he was more attuned to the concern he felt for them when they left. When they prepared themselves to walk out of the house the previous night, Sam begged to be allowed to go until Caleb finally relented and let him tag along with them so he would know what to do.

Having Sam riding with them to the empty graveyard was a jolt for Dean when he had to remember that Sam needed to know what to do to protect himself. It was the same thing he ended up having to reconcile himself to when he first started training. Being in the life was hard most of the time, but it was made easier with the love and support that came from their guardians on a daily basis.

"Are you going out again tonight?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's question. Sam was standing on the bottom step, ready to go up and start his homework.

"Probably," Dean said with a shrug. "Evil doesn't necessarily operate on a timeline, bro."

Sam seemed to take that comment to heart. He watched as he paused in his movements, a frown on his face when he thought about the danger his family was putting themselves in by doing something so reckless. For someone who was very new to this kind of life, Dean could understand what it must have felt like to him.

"What are you...what are you going to do?"

"Salt-and-burn some mean nasty spirit bones. The sucker's been making meals out of his poor family for the last hundred or so years. We're gonna swing by the grave and make sure he won't _ever_ do that kind of crap again."

Traveling to the graveyard and performing a ritual that he had become very good at, was almost like second nature to Dean. It was nothing to help Caleb or Jim dig up a grave and then hold the flashlight steady while they jumped down into the grave to pry open the casket. The tricky part came when the spirit realized what was about to happen, and did its best to hinder them. That was when Dean's ability came in handy when he was able to concentrate on his guardians, and fit the shield around them. The drawback for the ability was in the form of him only being able to shield one of them at a time while the other was forced to go head-to-head with the murderous monster.

"How long have you been working the case?" Sam wondered, a frown appearing on his face.

"Long enough, that's for sure."

Sam nodded to himself before he disappeared up the stairs, his footsteps fading when he hit the kitchen floor and then turned into the carpeted living room. Taking the brief moment of alone time to relax his taxed muscles before he started the workout, he knew he needed it that day. For reasons he could not explain to himself, he was feeling anxious about a report he discovered in the local newspaper that detailed a disappearance in the small town of Carthage, Missouri. This disappearance was being described as one of the most mysterious cold cases the police had in a long time. Finding it in the newspaper that morning before school, his instincts that had been finely tuned by Caleb to spot something like that, was working overtime to connect the dots.

The child was not foolish enough to think they would make the trip just off the newspaper article alone, but he knew they went off less all the time. It was the details of the job that no one else was able to pick up but them. Being able to convince his family that he was mature enough to help on something other than a spirit (and occasional demon problem) would be the big question yet to be answered. It was not for lack of reason his family was overprotective of him and Sam when it came to hunting, but he hoped he could convince them that this would be okay.

Hearing Caleb come down the stairs for the start of their workout session that almost always ended up with them getting a heart-to-heart mixed in with the punches and kicks, he felt his bundled up nerves start to relax when they sensed they were about to get their butt kicked. Dean could already feel himself start to react to what was happening around him as he went to turn the lights on brighter, and also arrange some of their gear so it was within easy reach.

When he saw Caleb stride into the room with his AC/DC shirt on prominent display, he felt himself fade into that zone where it was just the two of them and their awesome bond with one another. With Caleb, there was nothing he felt like he could keep from him. With other people, he was quiet and reserved unless he _really_ knew them. With Caleb, he wore his heart on his sleeve and that ability to feel totally okay with that was not anything he was arguing against.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said, walking further into the room where he was.

"Awesome shirt," Dean remarked.

"You like it, huh?" Caleb said, walking over to their chest of supplies to produce the boxing gloves he and Dean always wore during a particularly intense workout.

"It's like you knew my heart was calling to it," Dean said in a mock-dramatic tone.

Following his guardian over to the center of the room where they were guaranteed to be out of the way of any furniture that was in their way, he could feel his heart skip a beat when he thought about doing something that quickly became routine for him. There was nothing more satisfying than understanding the idea of fitting in a clean work-out that exhausted him in the best way possible.

The potential case he found was still resting in the back of his mind. When he explained everything he found out from the revealing article, he knew Caleb would not deny the existence of something happening in Carthage. The only question that would remain would be what sort of involvement he would have in the case. Not willing to think about getting his hopes dashed before he even got the chance to prove himself on a job like that, he shook his head and tried to align his thoughts with this workout.

"Do you think Sam's okay?" Caleb wondered, stepping forward to make sure Dean fit his gloves on tightly enough.

"He's...he's struggling. This is a lot for his nerd brain to take in. He found out our family hunted creepy crawly things for a living, and that our parents died from it. Now his family hunts them? It's confusing."

Caleb nodded slowly while he considered Dean's answer. "I think that about hits the mark. I want to start working with him, but I don't want to push him, you know? I want to give him time to digest all of this."

Dean understood the need for that-it was the same type of feeling he got when he saw how affected Sam was by what he read. It made Dean wish he never left his journal in a place like under his bed where Sam loved to snoop. Although he reasoned that Sam brought his pain on himself by sneaking around his room, he could not blame him for something he knew he would have done if he thought his brother was keeping something from him. Still, having to face Sam being inducted into a brutal and unforgiving world, was horrifying to him when he thought Sam would get to have a few more years before he was faced with it.

Nodding his head to show he agreed with what Caleb was saying, he knew their support would prove to be everything for Sam going forward. The night he found out what his family did, he struggled to hold back his tears of finding something so awful about his family. It was then Caleb was able to step in and be with him privately for a little while while Sam fought through the tears to ask his guardian the kinds of questions Dean knew never should have been on his mind. The last person that should have held that cruel truth, was someone like his little precocious brother.

Not allowing that thought to sully the workout he was intent on getting in before they left for the graveyard later that night, he disregarded everything in him that dared him to continue to dwell on what was happening with Sam. It was not helpful to fitting in a clean workout, and he would not let anything get in the way of it. When he paused long enough to listen to Sam laughing about something in the kitchen, he felt a smile of his own cross his face at the thought of Sam being able to move past what he found out.

Unfortunately for Dean, Caleb took advantage of the mistake Dean made in looking away from him when they were starting their workout. Dean was in his element as he worked to free himself from the tight grasp Caleb had on him as he tried to flip him on his back. At twelve, Dean was not strong enough to do the same to Caleb, but his guardian taught him plenty of counter-attacks that would produce the same results. Using one that he especially favored, he could see the look of pride in Caleb's face when Dean managed to fairly free himself from the hold Caleb had.

Hardly deterred in his efforts, Caleb rebounded with a sharp right hook to Dean's face with the boxing gloves still firmly snug around both of their hands. Understanding the next best recourse by heart, Dean responded with a swift punch of his own that knocked Caleb back several feet. Grinning at the look of shock on his face, he barely gave Caleb time to recover from the response before he was at it again. The high intensity of the workouts was what Dean lived for when he needed to expel something negative from his spirit. This was what he looked forward to, and being able to show how strong he was was the icing on the cake.

The child's face was dripping with sweat by the time Caleb signaled for a timeout with his hands. It was during the intercession they always took to rest for a minute, that Caleb would propose doing something else with their workouts. That part always jolted Dean when he thought about switching up the remainder of their time in the basement. Usually, they would switch from the high-intensity hand-to-hand combat, to working on something a little less strenuous that normally included working on his shield.

"Giving up so easily?" Dean taunted, falling back against the sofa. Reaching for his energy drink, he gulped a mouthful of it.

"Just need a breather," Caleb said. "You're doing amazing, bud. I'm proud of you."

"That's really awesome," Dean said, wiping the sweat from his face. "Especially considering my muscles feel like they've been shredded."

He was sore, but in a way that was pleasing to him. Taking another drink from his bottle, he extended a hand behind him and rubbed his throbbing shoulder that was protesting all of the extra stress it had been put under since the night before when he took out the spirit in the grave. Jobs like those where he was required to dig into the ground, always created a sore in his body later on the next day.

"From digging last night?" Caleb guessed.

"I guess so," Dean answered with a shrug.

Caleb nodded, already well-aware of how physically hard hunting could be on the body. During their workouts together, Caleb also tried to teach Dean how to obey the signals in his body that was telling him when enough was enough. It was a lesson he was grateful to have, even if he had a difficult time submitting himself to that knowledge when his brain wanted to keep moving.

"You shouldn't be drinking that sugary stuff, dude."

"Why not?" Dean countered, not resisting it when Caleb pulled Dean's energy drink from him and handed him some water instead.

"Because you're already hyped up from the workout," Caleb patiently explained. "Your heart is already working overtime to keep the rest of you flowing like it should."

"Whatever."

"I was thinking," Caleb proposed. "That we should work a little on your shield. We haven't done that in a few days. I think it would do you some good to see if you can stretch it a little bit further...or inward."

Dean nodded. "Toward _me_ , you mean?"

"Yeah. You've done really super good on protecting us, but you need to be able to do the same for yourself."

Dean did not question the validity of Caleb's statement. The shield served him well in terms of keeping those he loved safe, but he also needed to do it for himself. The shield was designed to protect those based off his emotional attachment to them, but the same person who counseled Caleb and Bobby as to the true meaning behind it, also mentioned that it would be possible for Dean to learn to utilize it for himself if he worked hard enough at it. The problem was Dean was not convinced he had what it took to keep himself safe with it when all of his efforts ended up failing.

"I know. I've tried to. I just can't seem to get the hang of it, you know?"

"I do, but that's why we're going to try something a little different. Bobby got here while you were still at school. I think if we work with it with him for a little bit, you might end up surprising yourself."

The twelve-year-old was game for anything that would improve his skill. Leaning forward on the couch while Caleb disappeared up the stairs to get Bobby from wherever he was, he could feel his heart beat increase faster at the thought of seeing Bobby. The hunter lived nearly two hours away in Sioux Falls, and usually was able to come see them every other week. During those days when he was able to be there with them, the hunter spoiled Sam and Dean rotten and nearly always pretended to be the innocent party to their manipulation. A charge which Dean happily accepted as long as he could get his hands on the sugary foods and drinks the guys tried their hardest to put a lid on.

Standing up when Bobby appeared in the room with Caleb behind him, he could feel the smile come on his face at seeing him again. This latest separation from Bobby had been one of the longest because of a hunt that took Bobby away from them for much longer than Dean would have liked. Instead of hugging or showing any sort of "love" for them that Dean _knew_ was clearly there, Bobby held out his fist for a fistbump.

It was rare Bobby got to be privy to the details of the workouts his family did. Whenever he _did_ manage to catch a glimpse of everything Dean was able to do thanks to the careful supervision of his guardian, the hunter could hardly contain his enthusiasm that Dean was shaping out to be one of the strongest kids he knew. That was proven to be especially true during the rare times Dean was able to take Bobby head-on.

"You've grown a little since I last saw you," Bobby noted. "Unbelievable."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "It's your eyes, old man."

"Old man?" Bobby sputtered. "I'll have you know that-"

"That you're fit as a fiddle?" Caleb surmised. "We know. Anyway, you want to help with something?"

"Depends," Bobby said gruffly. "What?"

Caleb smiled. "You want to kick my ass?"

That was something the hunter did not have to be asked twice about. Happily obliging the chance to step in and provide a mock scenario for Dean to focus on for his shield exercise, the kid shook his head in amusement when he knew the type of relationship Caleb and Bobby shared. Usually they got along, but sometimes they ended up getting on each other's last nerve. Most of the time when they had a spat, Dean and Sam would dissolve into a fit of giggles because of the less than serious nature of most of their arguments.

Concentrating on the job ahead when Caleb gave him the silent go-ahead to assume his position in front of him when Bobby none-too-gently started to throw punches at his guardian that Caleb effortlessly deflected, he could feel his entire body buzz with the energy he could feel coming from him. It was intoxicating to feel the kind of power that emanated from him whenever he used the shield. What was once something scary and intimidating, was now something that challenged him to do better and always ended up fascinating him when he meditated on it.

The shield was mostly invisible other than the nearly undetectable white mist that flowed from him and out toward the people he was wanting to protect. Because of the fact he knew Caleb was not in any _real_ danger, his shield was not as strong during this workout. What made it even that much more challenging for him, was Caleb purposefully stepped back with Bobby to see how far Dean could extend it. Closing his eyes in concentration, he could feel the toll it took on himself to exert himself like he was. Pushing himself further than he ever had before, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders when he opened his eyes and saw the shield reached Caleb from all the way across the room.

What helped Dean be able to perfect that advanced move was being able to focus on his love for Caleb, and how he depended on him. After that, his own determination and sheer-will helped him move the shield further than it ever went before. Attempting to turn the shield on himself when Caleb gave him a nod of permission, he could feel his confidence wane when he could not do it. For some reason, being able to turn the shield _inward_ to envelop him, was much harder than doing it _outward_ toward someone else.

His disappointment must have showed on his face because Caleb stepped around Bobby, and gave him a hug. Molding into his embrace the second he received it, he tried to let go of the irrational part of him that scolded him for not being strong enough to do it on his own body yet. Pulling back from Caleb to look into his loving eyes, he saw nothing reflected but love and pride that he did as well as he did with protecting him.

"I can't believe I failed at that _again_ ," Dean remarked bitterly.

"Hey," Caleb chided. "Don't say that, bud. Do you even realize how far you were able to use your shield? I was all the way across the _room_ , and you were able to push it to reach me. That's nothing to be ashamed of, Dean."

"I hate to say it, but he's right," Bobby cut-in. "You can't expect to produce wonders right now when you're only just learning how to work that thing. You'll get it; you'll master turning it on yourself."

Dean hoped Bobby and Caleb would be proven right. He was anxious to be able to prove he had what it took to defend himself in such a unique way.

* * *

The night was unusually warm for an early September evening-it was the kind of night that was pleasantly deceptive in the mind of Dean Winchester when he reminded himself that the forecast for the rest of the week promised to be nothing more than a blast of icy coolness straight from his worst nightmare. The colder weather also served to remind him that within the next week, he would be starting school again. Unless, of course, he was allowed to skip the first week back in order to accompany his guardians on the hunt he wanted so desperately to go on. For that one moment, that hunt he had yet to talk to Caleb about, was the furthest thing from his mind.

Walking across the dewy grass that crunched underfoot, he could feel his entire heart and soul brimming with the kind of anticipation that could only be born from the knowledge of going on yet another job. This job would be shorter than most, and would be finished with the salting and burning of the corpse who had been terrorizing his still-living family. Even though he was raised to believe in the total evilness of the supernatural creatures they hunted, he reserved some of his sympathy for the spirits who were simply lost and struggling to find a balance to what happened to them.

With that thought in mind, he quickened his pace so he could put the spirit to rest. The graveyard was eerily quiet that early evening. Ignoring the unease that threatened to pull on his heart, he quietly walked beside Caleb, his hands stuffed in his pocket. The correct grave was located near the end of the enormous cemetery. Carrying their bag of things with them that was slung over one shoulder, he caught his breath coming out in a puff of white mist that reminded him of his special shield. Mentally reminding himself that he might have to use it if the spirit decided to spring a surprise attack on them, he just hoped he would be able to do a better job doing that than what happened earlier during his training session.

Locating the correct grave marker that was adorned with the name and date of death for the unfortunate victim, he paused on an aged picture of the victim that was on the front of the marker. Keeping his light on the name and face of the victim they were putting down, he barely noticed Caleb passing him a shovel to help him with the arduous digging process. Groaning at the thought of putting further strain on his already taxed muscles, he decided to get the job over with before he could do anything else. Assuming a position that was familiar to him after years of performing similar rituals, he and Caleb both took the grave with their shovels. Doing it in pairs was not as hard as doing it by himself, which he knew Caleb did all the time when he went on solo hunts.

"I might've-I might've found a job," Dean remarked once they were close to closing in on the coffin.

"What kind of job?" Caleb asked, lifting his head from where he was trying to ascertain where to stick his crowbar to smash open the coffin.

Taking his time to answer his guardian's question when he could feel something in the air that signaled to him they were not alone, he spun around and shone his flashlight on the parts of the graveyard he could not see so well. Doing night hunts was what made him nervous when he knew anything could happen to them if they were not careful. Relaxing only a little when he could see nothing that alarmed him, he turned back to Caleb.

"It's in Carthage. A disappearance."

"Carthage? As in _Missouri_?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Isn't that the only Carthage?"

"What else is there besides a disappearance?" Caleb inquired, his face shining with sweat in the glow of the flashlight.

"Nothing, really. I guess this isn't the first time weird crap has happened there."

From the research he was able to put in to the job, he realized that the exact same thing happened the year before. The disappearances seemed to have no connection to one another other than the fact they all happened in the same town. From the limited amount of information that existed for this job, he knew any number of supernatural baddies could have been responsible for such a thing. It was the underlying _what_ that concerned him. It was not often his family had very little to go on other than a few facts scattered through the papers.

"That's really weird," Caleb commented. "I did a job there about a year ago exactly."

"No kidding? Do you think the thing you were hunting got away?"

In the years since he became aware of what Caleb did and shared in the knowledge of his hunts and what happened during them, it was very rare that Caleb would fail to snare the monster he was hunting. When Caleb shook his head, he let out the sigh of relief he was not even sure he was holding before. Soon enough, that sigh of relief was replaced with a raise of his eyebrow when he tried to think about what could have been haunting the town if it was not the thing he was going after in the first place.

"I don't see how, Dean. I hunted that monster down."

"What was it?"

Caleb waited until he smashed through the coffin to answer the question. Understanding what his job would be once Caleb was free from the dangerous grave, he reached in his pocket for the box of matches. His guardian was already dowsing the monster with salt and gas. The smell of which filled Dean's nostrils. Paying no mind to it once he got used to, he waited until Caleb gave him the silent go-ahead to throw the match.

Helping Caleb up from the deep grave, he was about to throw the lighted match when he was roughly thrown back by something. Stumbling to his feet when the initial shock passed through him within seconds, he saw the spirit of the thing they were hunting. His grey skin was glistening in the glow from the moon. Raising his rock salt gun for a shot, his hand was harshly grabbed by the monster who bent the gun out of shape until another blast from behind startled it. Caleb was manning the second gun they had, and was doing his best to stay ahead of the situation.

Throwing Caleb a grateful look at his quick actions that undoubtedly saved him from another round with the furious spirit, he tossed the match before the spirit could do anything else. This spirit was stronger than most, and was able to hold on longer than he gave it credit for. Concentrating on protecting Caleb while they waited for the salt and burn to work its magic, he could feel the wonderful effects of the shield flow from him and go out to eclipse Caleb in its strong hold.

Soon enough, the foolproof method of salting and burning the bones, worked like a charm. Happy that something had been taken off their to-do list and they managed to get out without any serious injuries to speak of, he was glad to be able to walk back to his car in one peace. The question of what Caleb hunted the year before, was still on his mind. In a part of his mind that was not consumed with the hunt they just completed, he could remember Caleb telling him what he _thought_ the monster was at the time.

"The monster I was hunting?" Caleb said, once they reached their car and climbed inside. "It was a ghoul."

"Oh," Dean said, giving himself time to think about the serious nature of a job like that. "So can I go?"

It did not matter to him what the job was. What mattered to him was finding the thing and putting it down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

The one issue that plagued Dean's mind over the next few days, was his inability to extend inwardly to protect himself. It was the one goal he wanted to desperately accomplish, but also the one thing that proved to be nearly impossible for him to achieve. It was not for lack of trying that he had not yet succeeded in harnessing its remarkable ability to fold within himself. The woman who first told Caleb and Bobby the meaning behind that fascinating power, also told them that the owner of the shield would only be able to keep those he loved safe. Those who he shared an emotional connection to.

That was the foundation of his power; the basis it stood on. The ability was important to Dean because it gave him the increased chance of keeping his family safe from the various things he hunted. However, it also stopped him short of either keeping two people safe at once, or keeping himself locked in the protective mist that enshrouded the person he was trying to reach. The woman told them that if Dean was able to effectively train himself to direct the shield toward himself, he would be able to utilize the power to benefit _him_.

The issue was focusing his mind around the idea of doing something for _himself._ Even though he tried to deny it, Dean knew that was the main problem. There was nothing in him that desired to keep himself safe as long as the ones he loved were guaranteed protection. That selflessness was ingrained in him, and had been from the moment he carried his little brother out of his burning home and then dedicated himself to making sure that Sam stayed safe throughout the remainder of his life. Being able to do something like that and have it help him, was not anything he found easy to do when he knew what it would take.

Washing a hand down his worn face while he sat at the kitchen table trying to work through the emotional mess in his mind at what was happening with his pointless shield exercises, he looked down at the heavy file that came from the coroners office. Even though Caleb told him that he would have to "think about" him accompanying his guardian on the hunt in Carthage, Caleb allowed him to participate in the initial phases of the hunt that included the exciting prospect of interviewing potential witnesses and even helping pinpoint the exact cause of death for one of the people who was found brutally slaughtered.

This part of the job was Dean's _least_ favorite. Studying the all-too-important details related to the hunt was a skill he needed to pick up, but one he resisted with all his heart in favor of doing the physical stuff that no one else seemed to relish but him. Training his eyes to focus on the monotonous small text in front of his already tired eyes, was a burden for him when all he wanted to do was get his hands dirty with the ghoul and make sure it never harmed anyone again. First thing was first, and he knew they had to make certain that was what they were hunting.

Picking up the red pen his family used for circling important points of interest in one of their investigations, he could feel his brow furrow in confusion when he thought about the vague details surrounding the case. Apart from the fact that a ghoul hunt _had_ been in Carthage the year before, there was nothing else for him to go on that certainly pointed to one. The chunks of flesh that had been torn from the unfortunate victim, could have belonged to any monster who took pride in that. The other thing that confused him, was the thought of the ghouls changing their pattern and hunting the living instead of the dead.

According to ancient lore that his family relied on to make their job easier, the ghouls favored the darkness of cemeteries. Instead of feeding on the living people of which there were plenty, they liked to snack on the corpses of those who died and were buried. Having a ghoul differ from that pattern was what kept him less than one hundred percent sure Caleb was right, and this was another problem with those monsters. When he thought about his guardian confronting something of that magnitude, he could feel his body buzz with that energy that only radiated from within from his shield. Supposing he should be happy the shield served at least _one_ important purpose, he bowed his head and kept looking through the obits of the victim and the brief statement from the sheriff.

The sort of horrific brutality that was inflicted on at least one of the victims who was recovered, was hard for the sheriff to speak of. Reading through his words that Dean could almost _hear_ him say for himself, he knew to take it seriously. Through the trained knowledge he had of what to spot when he was scanning through the reports and obits, he was able to ascertain that the kind of violence that was happening throughout Carthage, was something they needed to look into. The only uncertainty was what further involvement he would get to have in the job.

There was good reason for his family to be overprotective when it came to exposing Sam and Dean into the violence of the hunting world, but Dean also realized that he would never get the knowledge he needed without being shown it. Through everything that happened to them, he thought he proved himself capable of handling himself in dangerous waters. Squeezing his eyes shut and then popping them open, he could feel the familiar twinge of excitement when he remembered the local job he would soon be embarking on that was right next to their town. Local hunts were always the ones that Dean was promised the chance to investigate, and he was not questioning that during the morning when his mind was rapidly shifting into the "zone" that let go of everything else to focus his concentration on the important job.

Startling a little in his seat when he heard the pound of footsteps echo through his sensitive hearing, he put away the file he was perusing and looked toward the front door where he could hear someone moving. Reaching for his gun when he automatically considered it to be someone who might pose a threat to them, he released his stance when the person burst through the door with an energy that put his to shame. Grinning when he saw his friend thunder over to him, he tucked his gun behind him and reached over to painfully punch him in the arm for scaring him.

In the kind of world Dean lived in that was often unpredictable and scary, it was rare to have any personal connections with people who would most likely end up either dying, or betraying them. Through his bond with his family, he learned to appreciate the beauty of having friends. Even though some hunters might have considered that kind of closeness to be a _threat_ because of their unsure hunting background. For Dean's family, they operated under a different code that enabled them to forge bonds with people.

Although Dean was able to understand those who preferred to live a more nomadic lifestyle, he knew the value of not shutting himself off from the world. Their good friends the Harvelle family was one of them. For as long as Dean could remember much, he and his family made the annual trip to Nebraska to see those people who never failed to bring a smile (or a laugh) to his face when he needed it. Ellen with her sweet motherly nature, and Bill with his joking attitude that was able to ease even the most tense situation.

The other friend Dean was fortunate enough to have lived a little closer to home. Throwing his friend a dirty look that came off entirely the wrong way when they both dissolved into laughter at their antics, he pushed the case toward his friend's eager eyes. Matt Dawson was the child of a hunting family like he was, and was one of his closest friends because of their shared experiences in the life, and also because of their close age. The thought of embarking on a new adventure with his friend, was what made all of the confusion and pain surrounding his shield, fade a little.

If there was anyone who held the power of making him forget some of what he was grappling with, it would be his partner in crime. Standing up when the excitement of abandoning the house for awhile got to be too much, he stretched his sore muscles that had not yet been able to recover from the strenuous workout the night before. Dean did not miss the quick look of concern that adorned Matt's face before he shrugged and bowed his head to look through the case file centered around the illusive ghoul Dean was hoping he could help hunt.

"Dude, this place sounds like a friggin' mecca for supernatural activity," Matt remarked, tearing his eyes away from the horrific details to stare at his friend.

"I know," Dean said, casually leaning against the counter while he waited for him. "Caleb hunted the same thing about a year ago."

Matt tucked the pages of the file back inside the folder and closed it. Unlike him, Matt was intent on both the hunt and the _before_ part that Dean usually despised. It was both frustrating and awe-inspiring to watch Matt work the different parts of his brain to come up with the same result. Making sure his gun had enough rounds in it to hunt whatever he was going to be hunting, he also made sure he had his knife with him. Without any of the weapons he needed to stay alive, he knew the outcome would likely be very different.

Even though he enjoyed hunting with his family and getting to experience everything from the patient guidance of his guardian, hunting with Matt was a completely different experience. At fifteen, Matt was three years older than him and had already been on some of the hunts Dean _wished_ he could go on. In a big way, Matt was like a mentor to him who also just happened to be one of his best friends and the person who always teased and kidded him like he was a brother.

"Which is what?" Matt asked, tossing Dean a candy bar, which the kid eagerly caught.

"A ghoul," Dean replied around a mouthful of chocolate.

"How could you _possibly_ pick that up from the crappity stuff that was in the report? It could be anything that mauls and chews."

Dean supposed Matt had a point about the validity of the hunt being a ghoul problem. Finding the missing pieces of the puzzle and combining them to fit the picture was always the toughest part for him. In theory, he had every reason _not_ to believe it was a ghoul and every reason _to_ believe it was something else. His head ached from too many questions pounding through his brain at that quick speed. It only made him want to escape from the house that much faster. Upstairs, he could hear his brother get himself ready to come down for the morning. Especially with knowing Matt was there.

"It's just a feeling," Dean answered. "What are _we_ hunting today?"

"We," Matt answered dramatically. "Are hunting the scariest monster of them all, Dean."

"Uh-huh," Dean replied, unconvinced. "Which is what? The invisible hairy man?"

With the type of hunts Matt was known to engage in, he knew to expect any one of those options. Part of the reason why Dean liked to do hunts with Matt, was because the nature of the jobs always promised to challenge him in everything he _thought_ he knew. Suppressing the shudder that threatened to pass through him when he remembered the last excursion they went on that almost resulted in their deaths, he made a beeline for the case of extra ammunition he would need. Behind him, he could see Matt roll his eyes as though he thought his concern was unnecessary.

"No, dude. That's so last year! Anyway, it's some water demon that's been terrorizing some of the locals."

"Water wraith?" Dean guessed, knowing how ferocious those suckers could be.

"Nah. I think it might be something else," Matt said, already inching toward the door.

Before Dean or Matt could do so much as take one step further in the direction of the door that would guarantee the child some freedom from the stubborn thoughts clinging to his mind, Sam bounded down the stairs. Watching his brother with his best friend was a sweet thing to behold. Sometimes, Dean wondered if Matt only came over to the house to see Sam instead of him. For whatever reason he had, Dean was glad Sam had someone else to talk to about the stuff that was undoubtedly on his mind. Giving Sam a smile and shake of his head when he caught him staring, he picked up his bag that was already packed, and once again headed toward the door.

Dean wished Sam could go with them; it would give them some time together after the stressful events of the last few days. When he paused by the front door, he could hear Sam quietly inform Matt of something he was sure was his new knowledge about the supernatural. Matt's frown of sympathy was a dead giveaway to that suspicion in Dean's mind. The battle within his brother's mind was a constant one. On the one hand Sam wanted to train. On the other extreme side, he wanted to be as removed from that life as he could.

"See you later, Matty," Sam giggled. He was the only one able to call Matt that without being punched for it later.

"See ya, Sam. Try not to get into _too_ much trouble while we're gone."

As if that would be a possible endeavor. When Dean said as much, Sam characteristically stuck his tongue out at his brother before being set down by Matt. When Sam came over to hug him, he could see the fear written in his expression for him. Even though Sam understood Dean knew what he was doing because of the training he received at an early age from his family, that unease was still very much a part of his brother. Doing his best to give him his best approximation of a smile, he hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder and punched Sam.

Turning away from him to go on the hunt with Matt, he could see Bobby in the corner of his eye as he mentioned something to his brother about going downstairs to train. Much like Caleb served as Dean's instructor in the supernatural world, Bobby was the one who elected to take Sam under his wing. In so many ways, Dean was glad Bobby was making up for lost time and was now spending extra time with them that had been sorely missed. Almost missing Matt's truck in the mental fog he was in, he glared at his friend when he shook his head as though he could not believe how inept Dean was.

Leaning back in his seat, he waved at Sam who joyfully waved back. It appeared to Dean that his earlier fears were now gone to be replaced with the thrill of learning something new from Bobby. Leaning forward to turn on the silent radio when the truck cleared the driveway and began the drive out of the secluded neighborhood and out into the busier traffic, he felt his mouth drop open in horror when he heard the unthinkable music that blasted through the speakers.

Matt had the nerve to look surprised at his reaction. The jerk. Turning off the offending music as quickly as he could, Dean rummaged through the CD's that were scattered all through his glove box. If he was going to endure a long drive over to the next town to help Matt on the hunt, there was no way he was going to suffer because of his questionable taste in music. Finding something that passed for decent music, he threw Matt's earlier CD out the window. Ignoring the outraged look on his face, he turned up the volume on the acceptable sound.

"I can't even believe you," Dean said, looking at Matt as though he didn't even know his friend at all.

"What's wrong with what I had-"

"It was _rap_ music. Honestly, Matt? You just lost your best friend privileges."

Matt had the gall to look shocked at words, but the seriousness of the conversation quickly lost its potency when Dean offered him a smile that let him know that even if he despised his friend's musical choices, nothing could really come between them. Staring at the overcast sky that served as a marked reminder of the upcoming school season he was not looking forward to, he switched his thoughts to the upcoming job he and Matt were going on. At nearly fifteen-years-old, Matt looked old enough to pass for someone who could get the information he needed for the job. Although Dean knew one of his older hunting buddies would help with the identification red tape, Matt would mostly be heading this trip by himself.

"So how are you, man?" Matt asked, once the silence in the car stretched on for too long while they drove down the interstate.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, heaving a sigh.

"I mean, Sam knows about everything. It has to be upsetting for you, right?"

Dean shrugged. "He's handling it okay-" He started to say, not wanting to bring the focus on him when his brother was the one paying the price.

Matt shook his head but refrained from responding while he maneuvered his car off the too busy highway, and onto the more peaceful country roads that covered the next town. If nothing else that came from the trip, Dean was given the chance to spend time with his friend and not have to worry about so much other than the hunt. Staring at the rural setting that became more pronounced the longer they drove into the heart of the rolling hills and lakes, he wondered what new monster would be responsible for the string of deaths in the area. Winding his arm behind his head, he reclined his seat a little.

"It's funny, dude. I asked how _you_ were, and you automatically go to how _Sam_ is. It's okay to, you know, think about yourself once in a blue moon. Hell, just ask me, I do it all the time."

Dean could not help but smile at his comment. "I don't doubt it." He paused, wondering how much of himself he could get to be honest about how he was coping with having Sam know so much of the ugliness that went on in their lives. "It kills me, Matt, but I can't mope and cry when Sam needs support."

That one sentiment was what he knew to be true about the situation they were in. His own feelings on the subject of Sam knowing so much about their family, meant nothing to him when Sam was the one who was the most deserving of that sympathy and support. The truth of the matter was he sometimes wondered how he would be able to reconcile himself to the idea of Sam doing what he did, and training for it. If there was anyone he trusted to do the job, it would be Caleb and Bobby, but even their meticulous eye for detail in that department, would never make him feel so secure that he would be willing to forgo all of his misgivings.

Matt nodded slowly, his eyes downcast as he focused on the driving. His friend was an only child, but was still able to support his friend in the only way he knew how. Hunting was a distraction for both of them when their real lives often proved to be one nightmare after another. The twelve-year-old thrived ever since settling into the new routine he had with his family, but the danger that came with their hunting life, never gave him that keening sense of peace he longed for. Saving the world, hunting the uglies that terrorized people, it was all he knew.

"That's almost _exactly_ what I said after my parents died. People came up to me and shoved casseroles in my face. Offered me support I didn't know how to respond to. I kept telling them, "you don't understand. I don't need the food and the looks. I just need my parents back. I just need to support _them_ even when they're not around anymore."

Matt's parents died the previous year after succumbing to their injuries sustained from a rough hunt. Matt's family were friends of his family, and that was how the two became best friends in the first place. Dean could remember experiencing that perpetual sense of loss and sympathy for his friend that he could remember sensing from his own family after his father died. There was nothing that could have eased the burden of that pain, and so Dean tried his best to be there for him and offer him a place to stay without having to go home to an empty house. It was an offer Matt hesitantly declined after making up the excuse he had a hunting buddy his parents knew.

Not able to keep his eyes off his friend when they filled with tears over the memory of his painful loss, he tried to figure out what he could do that would ease that torture. For him, he knew he was lucky he did not hold any memories of his parents like Matt did. In a way, the loss was made that much harder by not having any solid foundation to remember them by, but it also made it easier when he took into account that he did not have a clear picture of them to mourn. Rolling his eyes at the thought of what he would do for his best friend, he took out his rock music and replaced it with the rap crap Matt seemed to favor.

When the pounding crescendo of the music reached a peak point, he could feel the grin stretch across his face when he saw the look of shock on Matt's face that his friend was willing to disregard his own perilous views of music for his benefit. Wincing when he heard the lyrics and the beat that was foreign to him, Dean tried to withstand it for his friend. Turning up the volume when they were in the company of a loud semi truck, he could hear Matt quietly rapping along with the lyrics. Joining in, even though he felt ridiculous for doing so, he could see the happiness on his friend's face.

"Who are we going to meet up with?" Dean asked, once the third song on the CD finished playing. The brief few seconds of silence that accompanied the break, was bliss to Dean's ears that seemed intent on punishing him for his transgression.

Dean was not familiar with too many of Matt's hunting friends. The one friend he met before, was Matt's friend Jefferson. He was a nice guy and was the epitome of a professional while they conducted the hunt for the werewolf. Thinking back to that time when he was entrusted with hunting something as dangerous as that, made him wonder what Caleb had to be worried about with him hunting something like a ghoul. A ghoul, in comparison, was like a puppy dog. Shaking his head, relegating the issue to the back of his mind until later, he turned his head to look at Matt.

"It's a guy my Dad knew. His name is Joshua."


	4. Chapter 4

**Jim**

If there was one fact the pastor knew to be true concerning the current situation they were handling with Sam knowing nearly everything they did to save unfortunate victims from supernatural evil, it was how wrong it was for someone as young as him to know things that no child should have ever had to think about. The one aspect of the situation they were facing that Jim knew to be true, was that he and Caleb tried their best to shield Sam from the horrific knowledge of a world that only seemed to hand them more problems the longer time dragged on.

The night Sam found the journal of his Dad's that Dean stuffed under his bed, was one the pastor was certain he would never forget. Even though Sam was a naturally curious and brave little boy, the pastor saw his resolve crumble the instant he absorbed those horrifying words and confronted his family about it. There was no easy way to inform a small child that he was from a hunting legacy that included his parents, and now his new family. There was no simple way of sharing with him that his family died from separate supernatural events.

Sam, true to form, tried to be brave for those around him. His eyes were downcast but bright; his mouth was already forming a deceptive smile that was a mask to those around him. Jim could see through the act, could see how traumatized the small boy was after reading through the journal that gave him a glimpse inside his family that he most likely never thought he would get to read before. There was little anyone could do to ease the burden of what he discovered in Dean's room, but Jim was determined to do what he could to make it so that he was available for Sam whenever (and wherever) he needed him.

The question of whether to start training Sam, or wait for awhile so he would have the chance to become more acclimated to what he found out, was an issue he constantly found himself debating. In the world they lived in, Jim knew any number of monsters would take advantage of the fact Sam now knew more about their world. If that would be the case, Sam would need to know the very basics of how to hold a gun and how to use it appropriately. Those were lessons Dean learned early on, and ended up serving him well for those times he was allowed to accompany them on hunting trips.

In Sam's case, Jim had the feeling their approach would have to be tailored to fit his own individual needs. Scrubbing a hand down his face as he contemplated those heavy thoughts while perusing his Bible in his quiet office, he could hear nothing but the unmistakable sound of silence that was music to his ears. Dean left to go on a trip with his friend Matt, and Caleb was doing a hunt of his own a few miles away from them in the small town of Medina.

Sam was downstairs exploring some of the things his family used to hunt. In an effort to smooth the transition from complete ignorance of what they did, to now having that terrifying knowledge, Jim encouraged Sam to examine the weapons they used. The one instruction he gave to the boy, was to never use any of the equipment without one of his guardians or brother present. Sam immediately obeyed that order without question, and contented himself with just looking.

Setting his Bible aside when he caught sight of some of his new cases peeking at him from underneath some work papers, he sighed softly before easing the folders out. There was nothing that relaxed him more than switching his mind into the place where he searched for a common link that proved to be a supernatural threat. Looking at the papers that boasted a headline-grabbing murder in Ohio, he could almost see the tale unfold before him.

Grabbing his pen to circle points of interest for later pursual, he wondered what monster was tormenting its victims this time. In the unpredictable world he lived in, he knew it could be a type of monster he faced before, or something completely new to him. Writing down the names of the Ohio county morgue and police department, he made a note to call them later. First he had to make sure the scarce details of the case lined up with what he assumed was another job.

The trick of finding those crucial details, was all in the way he was able to perceive it. Hunters were able to pick up on things that the general population could not. Normally, it was not difficult to catch something that others were incapable of. The problem would be to form those details into something that resembled a hunt they could go on and successfully solve. His brow furrowed in concentration as he looked at the identifying details of a spirit problem that was harming the family of a small boy who died in the 1800s.

Spirit problems were his preferred monsters to hunt. There was next to nothing to do with them except find out who it was, and salt and burn the bones. The challenge was unique all on its own in finding the culprit, and digging into its history. Making a note of when he could go on the trip, he closed the file and tried to content himself with the truth of understanding the probability of what he was going after.

Stretching his sore muscles from too long of sitting still in his office chair, he got up and went out to investigate the unusual silence that encompassed his home. In a way, the silence was peaceful. In another way, it was unsettling because of how _unusual_ it was. The light down in the basement was still on. When Jim listened clearly enough, he could hear Sam moving through their various weapons in the storage area of their basement.

Deciding to interrupt him to see if he could offer any support or training, he took the stairs quietly. The basement was a place for them to go to unwind. The open space served as a makeshift training floor for Dean when he worked out with Caleb, and now for Sam and Bobby. In the corner of the room, a TV stand stood unnoticed.

The bright light from the storage area was turned on. Sure enough, Sam's shadow moved imperceptibly as he looked through everything that was in his family's possession. Moving into the storage area, he wondered what all of those weapons would signify to a child who was just starting to get an understanding of what his family did. Unsure of how to broach this touchy subject with someone who was still so young, he took his time approaching Sam.

Sam was lost in thought as his finger moved over the grip of a gun, and the handle on a knife.

The innocence of the small boy was striking. Even after everything Sam went through in his short life, he was still grasping that childhood sweetness that was somehow still part of him. Sam turned to look at him when he could hear his guardian move behind him, and Jim could see the look of bewilderment in his focused eyes as he took in everything he was looking at.

For someone who only recently found out the truth about his family, the arsenal they had in their basement, had to be overwhelming to him. Giving Sam a smile of what he hoped was comfort and support, Jim reached for one of the handguns that was mounted on the wall. This piece was a limited capacity one that Dean used to practice on before he was entrusted with using some of the more advanced weapons.

Sam studied the weapon that was balanced in the palm of Jim's hand. The pastor could see a look of nervousness and uncertainty decorate his eyes at what he was about to do. Willing to follow Sam's lead where it concerned how much training he received right away, he saw the little boy contemplate his feelings on the matter, before he nodded his head in a silent gesture that he was ready to explore some of what his family did.

Leading the way out of the storage room and up the stairs, he led him outside toward the massive field that adorned the back part of their property. It was here that Dean first learned to hone his shooting skills, and where he also learned to use a bow and arrow set. The targets they routinely used to brush up on their skills, was still standing valiantly against the gentle breeze.

Being outdoors for the training session was what Jim thought would be the easiest way for Sam to pick up on some of the things his family already knew by heart. Gauging Sam's reaction to everything that was unfolding around him, he could tell he was ready to embrace the hunting legacy he was born into. Holding the gun out for Sam to take, the child did so reluctantly and tested the power and weight of the weapon he was handling on his palm.

Reaching for another gun that was tucked behind him, he loaded the magazine inside, before turning his posture toward the targets. Timing the trigger pulls in his steady hand, he pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. Sam watched everything he did with a sharp focus that nearly reminded him of his brother, who was always ready to learn something new about what they did.

The targets were human-sized ones that provided as real of an experience for the students as it could. Watching Sam as he turned his body toward the targets, a part of him could not believe he and Caleb were teaching children how to use those weapons. In another lifetime, he would have been horrified to see such a thing, but he acknowledged the grim reality of a world that did not afford anyone to be unprepared for the job they had to do.

Sam only learned the truth about his family a few days previously, but already he was putting on that confident air of being able to handle everything that was being thrown at him. Giving Sam an encouraging smile, he watched as Sam shook off his unease and came up to the target.

"I feel _different_ " Sam started to say, his stance tense and his hands shaken when he pointed the gun toward the targets.

"Do you feel nervous?" Jim prompted, filling in the missing word he could almost guarantee was on Sam's mind.

"Sorta. I feel kinda...bunched up."

Jim understood what that was like. During his early years as a hunter when he trained under the watchful gaze of an experienced hunter, he could remember walking through the same block Sam was. Theorizing holding a gun was one thing, but actually following through on it was another matter altogether. Stepping up to Sam's side when he could understand the issue, he corrected Sam's grip on the weapon.

Sam's mind was like a sponge the way it absorbed the information he was getting from his guardian. Sam's hands obediently held the position Jim shifted them in, and once again turned toward the target. Standing up to watch his progress, he could feel his eyes itch with tears when his eyes connected him to the sight of such a tiny body holding a massive weapon like that.

"One thing you can do," Jim counseled, clearing his throat. "You can roll your shoulders a little to loosen the tension. It works like a charm."

Sam instantly took his words to heart, and positioned his shoulders in a prime position before he started rolling them. Observing Sam work his body in a way that was unfamiliar to him, was strangely humorous for Jim as Sam began to relax enough so that the smile Jim longed to see on him, started to return before he picked up his weapon and faced his fears again.

"Now what?" Sam demanded, his voice wavering on the last word.

"Now you ease your finger over the trigger, and you pull it."

Sam looked uncertain about the instruction he was receiving, but nodded his head silently as he turned to face the target that seemed intent on keeping him from achieving what he knew he must do. Keeping his eyes trained on the small child, he shoved the thoughts that begged him to consider the implication of starting yet another child on this course, and set his thoughts on getting Sam through this exercise.

"How old was Dean when he did this?"

"You don't need to compare yourself to your brother, Sammy.

Of course Sam would feel the pressing temptation to compare himself to his brother. Dean was a natural at hunting, and that included the training that came with it.

When Sam finally shoved through his nervousness, and squeezed the trigger on the gun, Jim could feel a grim sort of pride in what Sam was able to do. The part of his mind that urged him to consider the dire consequences of exposing a child to the cruelty of that world, was not lost on him as he watched Sam's smile grow even larger when he realized he snagged the very edge of the target.

The field provided enough room to perfect their training when they needed it. When Sam was practicing the complicated art of shooting, he would have enough room to make mistakes and improve upon them. Hardly ready to quit when he shot the target on his very first try, Sam turned his body toward the second target that was positioned directly behind the one he just knocked down.

When Sam managed to hit the target that he was aiming for, Jim could feel his broken confidence increase with his success. Taking the gun from Sam when Sam handed it back to him, he could see the radiant smile coming from the child that he was able to knock the targets down and do it with a smile on his face.

"I did it," Sam whispered breathlessly.

"I know you did. I think you did a _fantastic_ job, Sammy."

"I was so scared...but I did it."

"And I'm very proud of you for that."

Turning to walk back toward the house once the shooting exercise was over, Jim hoped Sam felt more secure in what it was he was walking into. The child was quiet, but Jim attributed the silence to any number of issues that could have been plaguing his mind. The important thing to the pastor was Sam pushing through his obvious fear, and shooting the targets.

"Dean told me my Dad died from something bad," Sam said, once they reached the house. "What kind of bad?"

Now it was Jim's turn to fall quiet. Ever since he could remember anything after Sam learned to walk and talk, they told him his parents died from accidents. That seemed to be the most appropriate answer for someone as young as him, and Sam never even questioned it.

Now that he knew everything, it was different. Shaking his head slowly at the enormity of what Sam was facing with knowing the truth, he simply let his nod be his answer to what Sam was already assuming in his mind. The only words he could offer the fractured boy as he melted into his arms, was how safe he was. Those words alone, would not cure everything, but he hoped it would be the start.

* * *

 **Caleb**

How many times had Caleb been able to successfully complete a hunt without anyone knowing any different? How often was he able to sort through the different aspects of a case and come out of it in one piece? There was hardly ever a time where anything else happened except for him finding the monster responsible for hurting the person it was after, and sending it back to hell.

That was how it was _supposed_ to be-how all of his hunts were supposed to turn out. In a way, he supposed his continued luck with evading anything serious happening to him, had created a false sense of security that enabled him to think he was invincible to the pitfalls of the life that was making itself abundantly clear to him in that moment as he stared down at the bloodied body of the woman who he thought he was trying to help. The woman whose family was the victim of a nasty shape-shifter, and the woman who was now lying dead in a pool of her own blood.

It was hard for Caleb not to immediately place the blame on himself after finding her in that state. He could remember the feelings of anxiousness after she failed to pick up the phone after the millionth time of trying to reach her. Driving over to her place with the rain splattering on his windshield, he could feel that tug on his heart that let him know something was very wrong. Never once did he heed those warnings until he walked through her house that was now a crime scene, and saw evidence of struggle.

His first instinct as a hunter was to clear the crime scene and divert as much of the attention away from him as he possibly could. The kind of monster who would do something as heinous as cold-blooded murder, would also hold zero compunctions with framing him for the crime. The problem resided in his own mistake when he first entered the house, and sank down to his knees beside her, drenching himself in her blood.

How hard would it be for a police officer to make the assumption he was the one responsible? How difficult would it be to mount a circumstantial evidence trial when there was plenty of it to go around? Those thoughts spun through his mind in a dizzying circle until he finally jumped into action, and rose to his feet as swiftly as he could without creating too much of a panic.

Understanding there was nothing more he could do for the poor woman, he stripped off his exposed clothes and threw them out the window into the bushes. It would buy him some time, create more of a problem for the police to sort through before they began questioning him. The next thing he did was remove the security footage from the room that was located in the corner of the living room, and placed it in his pocket.

Being a hunter had gifted him with the foresight to know when something looked bad for him. Being caught in the center of a crime scene where the shifter most likely took on his appearance to commit the murder, was most certainly a bad thing. Heaving a sigh when he thought about the torrential downpour of crap his family was about to endure, he pulled out his phone to report it.

There may have been nothing he could have done to prevent the crime from happening, but there was no way he would allow her body to be found hours after her death. At the very least, he owed it to this woman to honor her in her passing. Giving her one last look before he walked through the open door, he could not comprehend the bloody scene he walked into.

When he heard the wailing sirens pierce through his ears at a speed faster than he expected, he dropped the bloody knife that got stained in her blood when he got down beside her. Having his own weapon be at the forefront of the brutal slaying, was not anything that would look good for him. Understanding how smart the police were, only increased his anxiety when he considered how hard it would be for him to get away from the neighborhood without being caught.

The back alley that broke off into a street adjacent from the one he was just left, was his safest bet. His entire body ached with pressure and strain from both a serious case of nerves, and also the very real pain of running as fast as he could down the darkened roads to avoid capture for something he had nothing to do with. The sweat was shining on his face, mixing in with the dirt that was on his forehead and the blood on his palm that came from the woman he was trying to help.

The one thing he thought about as he rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the police car and the officer that was stepping out with his gun drawn, was the two boys he would be leaving behind. What would they think when they heard he had been arrested on suspicion of murder? How would they react when they understood the truth better than anyone else? Sam and Dean already went through so much loss in their young lives. How was it fair to expose them to losing anyone else?

It was those thoughts and more that raced through his mind. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest as he obeyed the officer and got down on his knees. The clothes he tossed into the bushes, did nothing for him when he looked down at himself and saw the clothes he had been wearing underneath them that had traces of the same blood as the clothes he was wearing over them.

Caleb's mind went into a complete fog of pain and confusion when the officer pulled his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. He was numbly aware of the officer saying something to him before he was roughly jerked to his feet, and led to one of the police cars that was parked alongside the curb.

There was nothing he could do except wait for the inevitable hellstorm to come down on him. The officer searched him, producing his gun and a knife he had that was not stained with her blood. The glare from the multicolored lights on the car, was blinding to him. Swallowing hard against the nausea he could feel permeate his system, he wondered what would happen to him. What kind of charges would he be brought up on? And what would happen to Sam and Dean?

Closing his eyes as he tried to center himself to the earth, it was harder than he thought.

"Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" The officer's voice sounded like it was coming from a long tunnel. Nodding his head, he felt like he was agreeing to something that was utterly wrong on all accounts.

"Y-yes," Caleb said, feeling his voice shake.

When the officer placed him in the back of the patrol car, he wondered what would happen to him after everything was said and done. Even though the police told him he was under arrest for 'suspicion of murder' he had the feeling that distinction was not anything they took seriously when he saw the looks on their faces. These people thought he was capable of a brutal murder, and why shouldn't they? He was caught red-handed with everything they needed, and that was on him.

Leaning his head back against the uncomfortable back of the police car, he wondered if the hard seat was put there on purpose to dissuade those troubled youth from repeating their offenses. Beside the humiliating feel of being handcuffed like a common criminal, he also knew that anyone who did not know what he did, would automatically think the worst of him.

This hunt was supposed to be a fast one while Dean was gone with his friend. Now he was staring at a potential trial if it ever got that far, and being separated from those two boys. The car ride down to the local police in Medina, only took a few minutes but seemed to take much longer in his overwhelmed mind that begged him to answer why he did not run faster. Why he did not do everything he could to escape apprehension.

"We found the knife on the street. The one we saw you drop."

"How did you-"

"We have ways to ascertain that kind of thing," the officer tersely interjected.

That was _very_ bad. Not only was he caught with clothes that had stains of blood on them, but now they found the knife he tossed away when he caught wind of them. It was not possible for things to look worse for him than they were right then. The only confirmation they still needed to permanently tie him to the crime, was the DNA samples that would be collected at the crime lab.

"It wasn't mine-"

"We _saw_ you drop it. Are you tell us you just happened to see it and foolishly picked it up? And in the process, opened yourself up to criminal prosecution?"

Now that the officer phrased his response in that way, Caleb more than saw how it looked. There was nothing he could do other than hope Dawn could get him out of it.

* * *

 **Dean**

The small town Dean and Matt soon strolled through in Matt's beaten-up truck lived up to its name. Gazing around at the different shops and businesses all smushed together in one place, he looked at the sign that boasted its origins and the number of people who called this place their home. Less than two-thousand people, and that was not counting the amount of people who came by for curiosity sake after the string of murders and disappearances that shook the community to their core.

This was the kind of thing Dean lived for; the one thing that never failed to bring him to a certain awareness of himself and his abilities. Being able to walk through the town and face up against whatever was haunting those people, would be the only thing that promised to take his mind off the more pressing issues at hand. Not surprising to him, the only police station in the town was located just off the highway and was about as large as the grocery store they passed on the way through.

Dean was glad they reached the town as fast as they did. His mind was more than ready to sink into a new case that promised excitement, and also a welcome distraction. Stretching his sore muscles once he got out of the truck and walked up on the curb, he looked at his friend and saw Matt studying him with that concerned look he got on his face whenever he knew something was off with his best friend. Shaking his head, giving him the signal not to worry about it while they were hunting, he caught a glimpse of a man wearing a cowboy hat, step out of his truck and saunter over to them.

It did not take much to figure out this man must be Joshua. Dean was not familiar with any of Matt's hunting friends, but he knew this guy had to be one of the good ones in order for Matt to introduce them. Thinking about Matt and how overprotective he was of his "little brother" it made him think back to Caleb and Bobby, and how often they were counted on to be the exact same with him. Forcing a neutral expression on his face for the sake of friendliness, he was encouraged by the clap on the shoulder Joshua gave him instead of a formal handshake.

Letting Matt make the introductions, it was clear this was Matt's hunt from the get-go, and Joshua was only making sure he sailed through the police interviews without being asked a question that would pull the lid off his real age. Although Matt looked mature for his age, Dean wondered if an astute cop would be fooled by that alone.

Police station's always made Dean nervous. There was no reason for it other than the few times his guardians had been placed in the spotlight for a hunt gone wrong. That was when he was younger, and he was glad that nothing else happened since then. Stepping into the small office when the investigator came out to greet them, he was struck by the pictures that grazed this man's desk and wall. Memories capture of his family, and even his favorite sports team.

If nothing else could relax his naturally nervous spirit around police, this would do the trick.

When Matt took the seat next to him, he placed his posture in such a way that he was almost protecting Dean from anything that might happen. Even if that fear held no basis in reality, it was still something that Matt took seriously. Giving him a look that indicated to him he could take care of himself, he was still touched Matt felt so strongly about him that he would want to protect him from anyone (and anything) out there.

The police had next to no knowledge about what might be causing the problems with the murders and disappearances. The one common thread that linked all of them together, was the troubling reality of water being involved in each and every one of them. Leaning forward in his seat when the officer directed their gaze to the small computer screen that held the security footage from one of the houses that was hit by the monster, he could see nothing at first that grabbed his attention.

The first victim was a woman, mid to late twenties. Watching her intently while she got in the pool for the start of her morning swim, he watched for anything that was out of the ordinary. Nothing appeared to be, and that was what stumped him. When the young woman dragged her body toward the deep end of the pool, that was when he could see an imperceptible shape begin to emerge from the dark depths. This shape held no meaning to him, but it was strong enough to drag her under the water and drown her.

"She was a star swimmer," the officer said. "Things like this...they just don't happen."

"Was she...did she feel uncomfortable in the water?" Joshua asked.

"Not at all. She was comfortable in the pool as she was her own bathtub."

Dean nodded slowly, before reaching for the computer and rewinding the tape. Studying the contents of it again, it was hard to know what they were looking for. For all intents and purposes, this was a simple case of an unfortunate drowning. What made him stop and reconsider that stance, was the mysterious shape that resembled nothing more than a blob.

"How did you know her?" Dean asked.

"I was her uncle."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Matt said, clasping his hands in front of him. "Do you have any knowledge of any enemies she might have had?"

The officer shook his head, his eyes momentarily misting over before he collected himself. "No."

"Do you mind if we go and check the place out? Give it a once over?" Joshua inquired.

"Of course," the officer choked. "Be my guest."

* * *

Being in the same vicinity as the victim who drowned in the pool, was unsettling to say the least. Even though Dean was used to handling cases where there was a victim of what they were looking for, it never failed to raise a lump in his throat when he thought about the people who would be left to suffer after the hunt was finally through. Poking around the cobblestones near the pool, he felt a razor-sharp chill go down his spine when he directed his focus to the deeper end of the pool where the murder took place.

"So, this is where Alicia Evans took her last breath?" Matt said, shaking his head. "Poor girl."

"You sound _so_ torn up about it," Dean said, looking up at him with his eyebrows raised.

"No, it's not that, man. I'm just-I've been around this for so long it sorta numbs me."

Dean shook his head, biting his lip to keep his emotions locked in place. "Not for me."

Walking away from Matt, he walked over to the far side of the pool where he would have a clear view of the deep end. There was nothing in the water that disturbed him. Nothing except faint traces of blood. Swallowing hard, not willing himself to get caught up in what he was seeing, he turned to look at his friend and saw his face was paling by the minute.

Everything appeared to be normal in the pool. It made the twelve-year-old wonder what could have grabbed her as quickly as it did, and then disappear. If the pool water was infused with a spirit, he contemplated the reason the spirit was there. Most spirits were the products of violent deaths, and sought revenge for those who it thought wronged it.

"What kind of shape do you think has been growing in this water?" Matt asked.

"Beats me," Dean said with a shrug. "Maybe a spirit."

"But how do we check that?" Matt pointed out. "Our EMF's aren't exactly waterproof."

That _was_ the issue Dean found the most concerning. Without being able to effectively identify a problem like that, they would have no way of knowing what grave to dig up. His hand was already itching toward his pocket that held his bulky EMF. Without it , he felt naked going into he hunt.

"Don't we have an appointment with the coroner?"

"Yeah. Joshua's going to meet us there in an hour."

"So, I guess we can wait on exploring the pool until we know for certain how this girl died?"

The last thing Dean felt like doing was exploring a pool that most likely had a spirit in it that would drown him if he came too close to bothering it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Caleb**

There was part of the hunter that remembered the process of being transported to the local police station. It was something he recognized from his first foray into the world of criminal justice when he was wrongfully accused of murdering his wife. However, even when he could remember feeling enraged at being brought in for her death, there had been part of him that believed he would be acquitted.

And he was.

This time, he held no such compunctions when the evidence against him was overwhelming. _He_ may have known how innocent he was of the charges against him, but the people who had the power of keeping him locked up for the rest of his life, did not. To them, he was the killer of the sweet young darling of the community. For that, they wanted blood.

Watching the streets pass by on the (seemingly) _long_ drive to the police station, he could feel his heart lodge in his throat when he noticed the exit that was supposed to take him home. Having that street disappear from view, only served to remind him of what he was facing and how unlikely it would be for him to return home.

Swallowing the tears that pushed to make an appearance, he could see the officers each wore expressions of loss for the woman. It was just his luck that this girl happened to be the daughter of a prominent businessman. Thinking about everything he faced with a probable murder case that promised to be brought to full fruition, he wondered how he was not buckling under the pressure of it.

The boys were the two beings he thought of the most. How sweet and innocent they were even after all the hell they had been put through. Sam was still a little boy, and still ignorant of the true dangers in the world. How was he supposed to feel about having his guardian incarcerated? And what about Dean? Out of the two of them, he would be able to understand a lot more than his brother would.

Unable to stop the few tears that slipped past his eyes, he was aware of the police car moving away from the traffic of a busy night, and into the more secluded section of town that included the police station. Watching as his view changed from having a street view, to now seeing the inside of the parking garage, it was then he realized how utterly _real_ this was.

Not willing to relinquish the last shred of freedom he had before he stepped out of the car, he hesitated to follow their instructions before he slid his body forward and got out. The air was cold, a reflection of both the coldness outside and how he felt within himself. Suppressing the shudder that passed down his spine, he kept walking. There was no choice.

The police station was as painfully bright as he remembered from before. Understanding what was expected, he walked over to the long counter that stood as a buffer between him and the staff behind it. Bending down, his hands were trembling like a leaf while he untied his shoes and placed them on the counter, along with everything else the police missed.

The one small mercy he was allowed through the thickening pain that ensnared his heart, was permission to wear his wedding ring. That was the _only_ leniency he was given for the time being, before they rushed him through the booking process and assigned him a cell.

It all happened so quick that his head was spinning. Sitting at the end of the bench that took the place of a cot, he cradled his head in his hands. His first phone call after they finished the booking process, had been to Dawn. She was on her way to see him, and also to walk him through the next steps that would be taken in the case.

That was the only bright spot in a world that seemed to be closing in on him. The one phone call he was allowed to have, had been used to call his lawyer. There was no telling when he would have the chance to call his family and tell them what happened. They would be worried, especially Jim, who knew what he was hunting.

Raising his head when he felt (more than he saw) the presence of someone in the cell with him, he would have laughed if his spirit had not been so broken. Of _course_ he would land in a jail that had a spirit problem. Without the weapons needed to put it down, the danger he and the other prisoners would face, would be astronomical.

There was nothing he could do except hope the spirit would choose not to crush him to death in his sleep, or harm the other inmates. Glancing around as though he expected to find the source of the "feeling" he received, he saw nothing. Blowing into his hand once he could feel the apparent coldness in the air, his heart dropped when he saw thin white mist that was a product of how cold it was.

Standing up when he felt better doing so, he took another look around the cell he was in and noticed how old it was. Coming from a construction background had gifted him with the knowledge of being able to identify the approximate age of a structure.

Studying the peeled paint on the walls, and ascertaining that the materials used to for the cell were supplies manufactured back in the 1800s, was a bitter pill to swallow. Anything could have happened to an inmate during that time, and now that same person was most likely back for revenge.

The challenge would be to figure out where the spirit was, and how to kill it without having access to the tools he needed. Pacing the cell was something that gave him clarity of mind when his brain was nothing more than a jumbled mess of pain, he wondered if anyone in the jail had fallen victim to the spirit besides him.

Not that he would get the chance to track it when his every movement would be tightly controlled by the corrections officers. There would be no access to the supplies he needed, and certainly no permission to dig up a grave and burn bones. In a way, he felt naked without that protection he came to rely on during jobs.

Washing his hands down his face when he thought of the ramifications of being exposed to the spirit when he had nothing to help him, he wondered how Dawn would craft a defense that would prove to be indisputable to a jury. The temptation to doubt her when his circumstances were as terrible as they were, was overwhelming. However, he also knew how capable she was of making a miracle out of a hopeless situation.

With that reassurance taking root in his mind, he did not resist when the guards returned to his holding cell to retrieve him. Swallowing the influx of nausea that hit him when he realized what these people thought of him and how it dictated their actions, he allowed them to do what they had to chain him up and lead him down the winding halls toward the conference room where he was allowed to hold meetings with his lawyer.

Another favor came from Dawn being able to successfully arrange to meet with her client in the privacy of a room and not around other inmates and guards. Of course, security would be stationed outside the door, but he would gladly take this time with her. The section of hall that was allotted for meetings, was separated by an electronic keypad that required a code.

Marveling at how secure this facility was, he supposed he could not be too surprised when this place was designed to hold criminals. Unable to think of himself that way when he knew it was not true, he shook off the mounting trepidation he had and kept walking.

Ignoring his discomfort for the moment when he knew how close he was getting to meeting with his friend, he paid no mind to the hold the guards had on him. He would endure whatever he had to in order to be allowed the chance to see Dawn. The marked numbers on the doors, were getting smaller. With that, he hoped he was getting that much closer to seeing her.

When they finally _did_ make him pause outside the door he assumed she was in, he felt his heart give a leap of excitement when he thought about meeting her. Dawn had a way of making her clients feel confident in their chances of beating the charges against them, even when the case was irrefutable. In those moments, he was counting on her to be that for him.

To his relief, the guards took off the waist chain that further prohibited his movements. Being able to move somewhat freely without the use of it, was liberating for him. Closing his eyes, and allowing himself to feel a small amount of peace in knowing that he had an excellent lawyer to help him, he walked into the room when the guards typed in the admission code.

Dawn was sitting at the table; her dirty blond hair swept to one side of her face. When the door opened to admit him, he could see her eyes soften when she looked at him.

Waiting to speak until the guards left after they seated him, he slowly shook his head at everything that happened in such a short time. There was nothing that could have prepared him for finding the woman's body, and then being faced with murder for her death. The evidence _was_ overwhelming, but he held the naive idea that it might not matter.

At least not with Dawn. With her, she could always make an impossible situation, not that impossible. He wondered if his odds of beating the murder charge would be as easy as last time when the police caught him red-handed. His head was spinning with the seriousness of what he was confronting, and the only person who was able to make some of that fear go away, was the woman who was sitting across from him.

Words failed him: If it was not the realization of what he was facing, it was certainly the restraints he was forced to wear that only cemented the view the jail had of him. He longed to be able to tell them the truth, to tell them that a monster far beyond their craziest dreams was the real culprit.

"I would ask how you are, but it's written all over your face." Dawn was the first one to speak. Her tone was the same as he remembered from the last time he spoke with her. It was a tone that was equal parts soothing and authoritative.

"I'm crappy, that's how I am."

Dawn nodded, her hand resting on a case file he assumed was from the police. Not surprising to him in the least, they already had witness statements and a possible list of charges from the prosecutor. Of course none of that would come to play if they did not decide to charge him with the crime, but he had a feeling their words of assurance that he was only being "questioned" was a lie to keep him submissive and calm. Their actions had done everything to convince him that they knew they already had their killer.

The file Dawn was clutching, was further proof of that theory. It was difficult to talk to anyone about what he was going through, when he could not find the words needed to accurately describe it. With Dawn, he knew he should feel secure in confiding in her when he had known her as long as he had.

"I'm not going to say 'I understand' or try to pacify you by saying stuff that probably won't make you feel any better. I will, however, tell you that this _will_ resolve itself."

Typical Dawn. She knew exactly what to say to him, and did not try what so many others would have in her position. Unlike other lawyers, she did not try to sugarcoat anything and did not try to sympathize with him when she had no real understanding of what it was like.

In that moment, he appreciated it more than she could understand.

It was yet another reason why he held so much faith in her. With Dawn, there was nothing that she was incapable of mastering. Even a murder case that seemed open and shut. To her, that was nothing more than an incidental that she would sweep under the rug with her swift way of debating with prosecutors and winning over a courtroom.

Even the spirit problem he was facing while he was locked up, did not hold the same weight over him when he was with her. Being in the situation he was and knowing there was a hunt within the walls of the jail, was not anything he was expecting. However, he also figured that he would have to do something fast before a death occurred that could have been prevented.

"When you say that it will _resolve_ itself-" Caleb began, hoping he could take her words literally.

"I mean that literally," Dawn confirmed, nodding her head. "I've already spoken with several people who not only provide you with an alibi, but also have reasons to believe it could have been someone _else_."

There was a part of Caleb that wondered why exactly he was so stunned she had everything lined up. Over and over again, Dawn proved herself worthy of not only his respect, but also in saving his life and his family's life from the various legal scenarios they found themselves tangled in. Although she did not yet know what it was he did that so often got himself in trouble, she knew enough to trust him.

"How am I still surprised you manage to do this?"

"To be honest, I don't know," Dawn shrugged. "All I know is that I go to bat for my friends, and I won't stop until I get a good result."

That was good enough for him.

"What do you have? I mean, in terms of this alibi?"

There was barely anything Caleb remembered from that night. He certainly could not remember the people he interacted with before the killing happened. If Dawn was able to somehow scrounge up a person he talked to while the murder happened? That would all but guarantee his release once his arraignment happened. Or even a preliminary hearing if the judge deemed fit to deny him bail.

In answer to his inquiry, Dawn reached for the folder she had been resting her arm on. There were too many documents for him to name. It was astounding to him that her head never exploded from the wealth of information she was always bombarded with.

"The police estimate the murder happened at around-" Dawn said, lifting her hand for emphasis. "9:05. This man, Connor Welks, informed me that you two talked at _9:00._ "

In the midst of heartache and confusion that sometimes threatened to topple him with the sheer amount of force it was slamming him with, he felt hope for the first time since his arrest. Now that Dawn reminded him of the man he nearly forgot in the hassle of what happened, he could feel his spirit lift with the indescribable knowledge that she may have acquitted him before a trial even happened.

Shaking his head, speechless with gratitude and a relief that pushed through his soul to combat the hopelessness he felt only minutes before, he saw Dawn slide her hand across the table to hold his. Physical contact was forbidden during the meetings, but he had the sneaking suspicion she could have cared less. Squeezing her hand, feeling tears of absolution fall down his face, he could see her own eyes water before she regained control over herself.

"I talked to him before the police picked me up. He was helping me." There was so much he wanted to tell her about the secret life he led, but he stopped himself from going further.

Dawn nodded. "He told me that, too. He never really went into detail, but he said it would have been physically impossible for you to have committed the murder."

"Will his testimony be the only thing this judge needs to release me?"

Nothing _this_ good happened to him without there being some kind of hitch associated with it. It was that skeptical part of him that held him back from experiencing the full rush of euphoria that accompanied her words. Clasping his cuffed hands in front of him, he could see Dawn visibly struggle to answer his question. Her eyes were still soft, but they now held a gleam of determination he only ever saw when they were going to war.

"It won't be what gets you released, unfortunately. The physical evidence is what needs to be processed and delivered to the judge. Only then, will he be able to make a determination at the preliminary hearing."

"What about my arraignment?"

Dawn winced, squeezing his hand harder. Her touch would have usually given him a jolt of energy and hope, but now he felt dread. If the judge would be waiting to get more concrete proof of his innocence, he could not imagine how long he would have to tough it out in jail.

"The evidence won't all be there in time for that. It's in two days."

"What is he waiting for?"

"The DNA evidence that will be collected from your clothes and knife. If her blood is on the clothes and weapon, it will be difficult to prove you weren't there."

Caleb was about to respond to the disheartening news she was giving him, but words simply escaped him when he saw the spirit begin to materialize behind Dawn. Opening and closing his mouth several times in horror at what was happening that he was powerless to prevent, he looked around for anything that could be used to defend her.

Dawn looked perplexed, wondering why Caleb had the kind of look he knew was on his face. The spirit opened her mottled mouth to say something that was unintelligible to Caleb. Glancing around the table that was full of his case files, and the few things Dawn was allowed to bring into the room with her, he saw nothing that would help.

The one object made of iron capable of hindering the ghost, was the fixture that was nailed to the wall. The ghost's wispy red hair was flowing wildly in the wind that was present in the room. Willing himself to stay calm, and hope the spirit decided to go away, he watched the spirit move around Dawn and glide over to where he sat defenseless around the restraints he was in.

Inching back in his seat, he could see Dawn watching him with a look on her face that let him know she had no clue what was happening. Either this spirit was able to hide its appearance, or Dawn could not see it. Either way, he was hoping that would stay true. Swallowing against the rock in his throat when he watched the spirit step around the table barring her path, she eased up to him and thrust her hand into his chest as though it was made of nothing but the finest silk.

The pain from the sudden attack was nothing compared to the scream that came from Dawn when the spirit chose to reveal itself to her, and from what she could see it doing to her friend. Giving Dawn a look as he tried to get away from the attack, he directed his gaze to the light on the wall that would get rid of it. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest as the spirit twisted her hand deeper into his chest cavity.

"Caleb-"

"Get...the...light…" Caleb choked, using all of the strength he possessed to keep fighting.

Dawn instantly obeyed his command, and scrambled from her place to the light on the wall that was made of iron. Using her brute force to tear the object from its stand, she crossed the room a single stride, and used her instinct to slash the spirit that was harming her friend.

"What was that?" Dawn demanded, her hands trembling violently.

Caleb wished he could give her an answer that would help her understand. "What I do."


	6. Chapter 6

**Jim**

Patience was an emotion best suited for an unburdened mind. It was something that was required of him in order to withstand the rigors of a demanding job, and service the people who came through his doors. Patience was usually a habit of response that came easily to the unshakable pastor. However, he had the distinct feeling that his uncanny ability to remain calm, would finally be tested.

Staring at the phone that was still clutched in his hand, he could not comprehend the call he just received from a prosecutor in Medina. The small town Caleb was scouring for signs of a shifter. According to the unbelievable statement from this man, Caleb was being charged with murder in relation to the death of the victim.

Words simply failed the usually upright pastor while he processed the startling information that was delivered to him. There was no use in telling this man that Caleb would be the _last_ person who would commit this crime. His opinion of his friend was already set, and there was little Jim could do to change his mind.

His first thought (once the use of his mind returned), was how he would make the arrangements to be in Medina. The town was not far from their cozy life in the rural part of Minnesota, and was easily able to be found past the interstate. The traveling portion of the arrangements, would not be an issue. The question of how much the boys would be involved, was the sticking point he was agonizing over.

Sam was nearly nine years old, and had already been exposed to some of the horrors in the world. It was something he was growing used to after finding his father's journal, but Jim wondered how he would react to the knowledge of his guardian landing in jail.

No doubt Sam would be confused, and would wonder why this was happening when he knew what a kind heart Caleb possessed. Thinking about his friend, it blew his mind that **anyone** could harbor those thoughts about him. The charge that packed the devastating punch of landing him in prison for the rest of his life. That was an outcome that was not an option for them.

His mind was in shambles as he reached for the essentials that were in his sight. His body, however, seemed to know what to do. Placing his travel bag on the edge of his oak desk, he barely cared about organization while he tossed clothes and weapons into the bag. The things he would take with him, was the same every time he went away.

It was not until his eyes landed on a picture of a younger, smiling Dean that his thoughts made the leap over to the boy. The child would be heartbroken to walk into the house after a successful hunt, and be slammed with the unfairness of Caleb being jailed. The task of telling the boys, was not lost on him.

Caleb was the one who had been a near constant fixture in their lives since John vanished. He was the one who could always be counted on to give a tight hug, and a word of encouragement to them. The loss of that crucial support, would be catastrophic to Sam and Dean when they barely made it through the loss of their parents.

Glancing around his bedroom once more to make sure he did not leave something, he resigned himself to the idea of jumping into the next disaster to hit their family. In a way, the sense of urgency he had about making it to Medina, made him long for a simpler time before the phone rang.

The house was silent; nothing unusual when he remembered that a few members of his family were missing. Taking the stairs two at a time, his mind was on Caleb's arraignment. According to the prosecutor, Caleb would be charged with one count of first degree murder for the killing of Lexa Branch. After that, he would be slapped with a charge for 'attempting to destroy evidence.'

His mind, usually busy during the best circumstances, was almost numb with stress and grief for his friend. Thinking about Caleb being forced to endure a lengthy trial and the public scrutiny that went along with it, occupied Jim's mind while his soft eyes searched the house for Sam or Bobby. Dean was not due back for another few minutes, and already Jim was dreading having to tell him.

Out of everyone who lived in the house, Sam and Dean shared a beautiful relationship with each other. Caleb and Dean _also_ had an equally powerful bond with one another that sometimes enabled Dean to get through some of the more challenging times in his life. How was he supposed to cope with the truth that his guardian was in jail for _murder_?

Spared from his thoughts when Bobby chose that time to enter the kitchen, he saw his sharp eyes take notice of the bags Jim had in his hands. If the boys promised to be upset about the news of Caleb's arrest, how would Bobby take it?

"Going on a trip?"

"I guess you could say that," Jim relented with a sigh.

Bobby stared at him, clearly understanding there was _something_ wrong with his friend. Finding the words needed to tell him, would be difficult for the pastor.

"You might want to let me know ahead of time, idjit. I have a busy schedule." The tone of Bobby's voice betrayed the lie.

"Bobby," Jim said, making the bold move of putting his hand on his shoulder, knowing how Bobby felt about physical contact. "It's Caleb."

That one statement seemed to shake Bobby from his irritation. His eyes registered shock, before they settled on quiet acceptance. It did not take a genius to know Bobby assumed the worst happened.

"Is he...is he _dead_?"

It momentarily took Jim aback to hear the uncharacteristic brokenness that permeated Bobby's tone at the thought of something happening to one of them. Although his mind was in a perpetual fog over what he heard from the prosecutor, he retained enough control to shake his head. At the very least, he could assure his friend that they were not going through another loss.

When Bobby realized that the worst had _not_ happened, Jim saw him visibly deflate as though a balloon popped. It made breaking the news about Caleb's arrest, that much harder.

"He's in jail. Murder."

In the world they lived in, it was not uncommon to be faced with inquiries from the police. It happened when they either slipped up, or when a supernatural creature framed them. When Jim connected that to what Caleb was going through, he felt an icy chill travel down his spine.

Bobby, on the other hand, had a much different reaction. Once he had the chance to let that startling piece of news sink into his brain, he shook his head with his mouth open. A murder charge was not something that would be easy to escape from. Not when the evidence was as damning as the prosecutor made it seem.

" _Balls_!" Bobby swore. "What do those sons of-"

Jim could sympathize with Bobby's anger toward the justice system for what their friend was going through, but he also knew this was one instance where they had no other option. As hard as it was, Jim knew how damning a shifter case appeared.

"Bobby, it's not their fault. Not this time. If this prosecutor is to be believed, they have a solid case against him. The forensic evidence they have is being examined right now."

"What evidence do they have?" Bobby sputtered.

"They have a bloody knife, clothes that have the same thing, and they also have him pinned with attempting to destroy evidence."

The realness of the situation was not lost on either of them. They all dealt with police before during different instances, and always managed to skate by. Now that a shifter upped the ante, and pinned a violent murder on their friend, the stakes had been raised impossibly high.

Bobby was still angry; still silently seething. Jim could not blame him when they already had a lot to worry about. Having this thrown into their laps, was the last thing they needed. The confusion and uncertainty was the hardest part to contend with. They had no clue when (or even **if** ) they would get the chance to see Caleb.

"What was he hunting?" Bobby voiced, running a hand through his hair.

"A shifter."

"Damn things," Bobby groused. "They always frame these poor fools for their dirty work."

That was the problem. A shifter hunt always promised to be riskier than other hunts, because of the terrifying aspect of the monster adopting the physical likeness of the person. Although Caleb was an expert at these hunts, even he could not have escaped from the clutches of a trap.

"His arraignment is in two days. I want to be there for it."

There may have been nothing he could have done to prevent Caleb's arrest, but he was determined to be there in support of his friend. Looking down at the travel bags that were resting on the ground, he could not wrap his mind around how he was supposed to tell the boys.

"How are you going to break it to the kiddos?"

"I'm not sure yet. With Sam, it will be easier."

At the very least, Sam would be young enough to not completely grasp the seriousness of what Caleb was facing. Sam was exceptionally bright for someone so young, but Jim hoped his mind could be guarded against the atrocity of what was happening.

"What about Dean?" Bobby voiced, understanding their bond better than anyone.

"That will be hard."

Distracted from his train of thought when he heard Sam jump down the stairs, he palmed his face when he thought about telling him. When the eight-year-old thundered into the kitchen with the research book Jim gave him, he could see his face stretch into a grin.

Sam was initially resistant to the idea of learning the supernatural while he struggled to adapt to what his family did. After awhile, Jim noticed he began to open up to the idea of training and learning what he could about their lives. One of the first gifts Jim gave to him, was a book that dealt with some of the more common urban legends that were all proven to be true.

Not to anyone's surprise, Sam soaked up the information like a sponge.

Placing a smile on his face for Sam's benefit, he could see his eyes shift to the bags on the floor, and the troubled look on his guardian's face. Once again, the pastor was reminded of just how intelligent the eight-year-old was when he was able to pick up the smallest cues that signaled to him that something was wrong.

Gesturing for Sam to follow him over to the kitchen chair where they could talk in a more comfortable setting, he could see Sam's shoulders hunch the way they did when he was preparing himself for something bad. Wishing more than anything that he could spare Sam the knowledge of having to know this sort of thing, he took a seat and pulled Sam into his lap.

The child instantly settled against his guardian, and seemed happy to play with the pages of the aged book that was still clasped in his hand. Looking at Bobby before he took the book from the boy to guarantee his full attention, he could see the question in Sam's eyes. How was he supposed to shatter his innocence? How was he supposed to dump yet another life-changing problem on his shoulders?

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, squirming uncomfortably on his lap.

Jim arched an eyebrow in pleasant curiosity. "What makes you think there's something wrong?"

Sam rolled his eyes, looking at Jim as though he thought he was stupid for not picking up on the knowledge that he was smarter than most people gave him credit for. If the situation had not been as severe as it was, Jim would have laughed at the outraged expression on his face.

"I'm not stupid," Sam pointed out. "You're upset about _something_ **.** Plus, you have those bags."

"That's very true," Jim conceded, tightening his hold on the boy. "That's because something's happened."

"Something bad?" Sam guessed, his eyes flicking to Bobby.

Jim nodded hesitantly, fully aware of the hell on earth he would be bringing down on his family. Looking out the window toward the sliver of front yard that was visible from the kitchen, he felt his heart descend into his stomach when he saw Matt's truck pull in.

Dean would be devastated to hear about Caleb, and the hunter was at an even more of a loss to think of a way to tell him. Shifting his gaze to Bobby, he could see the concern in his eyes of what was going to happen. Shaking his head, willing himself to think of one problem at a time, he looked back to Sam.

"Caleb was out hunting a monster-"

"The shifter," Sam corrected. "I know."

Jim smiled, threading his fingers through Sam's thick hair.

"That's right." He paused, wondering what he could say that would possibly soften the blow. "Sam, something happened."

Sam turned in his lap to stare at his guardian. "W-what do you mean?"

"Caleb-"

The door slamming open from the force Dean used, diverted Jim from his statement. Looking over his shoulder at Dean as he walked through the kitchen, he could see the enthusiasm on his face from a hunt gone right. Giving him a high-five when he strode over to him, he could see Dean's eyes swivel to his brother, and then his two guardians. If Sam knew something was wrong right away, he could only imagine how fast Dean would figure it out.

Motioning for Dean to sit down across from him, he could see Bobby tense when he thought about how Dean would react. Telling the boys about Caleb being in jail, was nearly impossible for him when he thought about how horrific the charge was. This was not something small that promised to go away with time. This was something that had the potential of carrying them onward for the rest of their lives.

Dean leaned forward in his seat, knowing something was off with the way Jim was behaving. The pastor longed to be able to take his fears away. To deny anything was wrong when the opposite was the truth. How much more could their family handle? If it was not Sam learning about their lives, it was Caleb being arrested for a bogus charge.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, his voice rigidly controlled.

"Dean, I was just going to tell your brother, that something has happened with Caleb."

Dean froze; his expression was torn between one of shock and one of grief. It reminded Jim of the reaction Bobby had when he thought Caleb died from the job he was on. Shaking his head, letting Dean know that nothing like _that_ was wrong, he saw him calm down a little.

"Is he-"

"No," Bobby filled in. "He's not-he's not dead, Dean."

"Then what?" Dean inquired, shrugging his shoulders.

It was obvious that he was nonplussed about what could possibly be happening that would garner such a strong reaction from his family if Caleb was not dead. In all of his years of working with Caleb and training under his careful hand, there had never been a time where he was caught in a hunt gone wrong.

"Caleb was doing a hunt." Dean was unaware of the job Caleb took in Medina.

"What kind of job?" Dean asked, folding his arms across his stomach.

"It was one of the harder ones-" Jim began.

Dean smiled, shaking his head. "A hunt that's too difficult for _Caleb_? I can't see that."

In a way, Jim knew the belief Dean held about the competency of his guardian, was very accurate. Caleb was an excellent hunter who was able to tackle the big jobs with nary a problem to report. It was dumb misfortune that something happened this time; something that was big enough to land him in jail.

"The victim," Bobby said quietly. "She ended up drawing the short end of the stick."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, looking at his brother for the comfort he needed.

Jim paused; seeing the perplexed look on their faces was even harder for him to take. The longer he delayed telling them the truth, the harder it would be later. Shaking his head, having the full reality of the situation begin to sink in, was hard.

"She died," Jim explained. "She was found murdered in her home."

"The shifter?" Dean assumed with a scoff. "Of _course_."

"The problem," Bobby continued where Jim left off. "Is that the police have evidence Caleb was the one to do the killing."

The silence that filled the room after Bobby's startling announcement, was only broken by the chirping of a bird outside. Looking at Sam, he could see the child had no clue how to react. Dean, on the other hand, was fighting tears to remain strong for his family. Jim wished Dean would not try it, that he would let himself feel the kind of emotions Caleb always tried to coax out of him.

Reaching over to rub his knee in soothing circles, Dean rejected the offer of comfort and got up from his place. Sam, on the other hand, was not as resistant to the idea of it. Turning to his guardian, he wrapped his arms around him and quietly cried into his shoulder.

"We have to go to Medina," Dean said.

"We are. Tonight.

* * *

 **Caleb**

Caleb was certain the spirit was gone after Dawn slashed it with the fixture, but there was part of him that longed to be sure before something _else_ happened. Of course, the chains he was in, made it impossible. Settling back in the seat, he winced when he could hear the shackles clang together. Dawn was standing in the corner of the room, looking like she just completed her first marathon.

Meeting her shaken gaze in his forcibly calm one, he could see the horror perfectly muraled on her usually fearless face. It was in marked contrast to how she normally was when she met with him, and that only served to remind him of how this life would appear to someone who was not in it. His heart swelled with sympathy for her when she was about to have every belief challenged.

Raising his cuffed hands, he gestured for her to take her place across from him. It astounded him that the guards did not notice the commotion going on in the room behind them. Either way, he was not arguing against his miraculous stroke of luck that enabled him to explain some things she would need to know. Dawn's face was shining with sweat as she stared at him.

Wishing she would say _something_ to let him know she was okay after going through what she had, he could only see her shaking her head in quiet disbelief. Resting his hands on the table, she gazed at them, before slowly extending her own to hold his. At least, she was not repulsed by his knowledge of what to do to the ghost that she clearly had questions over.

For a long time, they simply sat in silence. At least she was not instantly abandoning the room and denouncing this entire thing as crazy. In a way, Caleb supposed the spirit did him a favor. Instead of fighting to find a way to tell her about the supernatural, the spirit revealed itself to her and left her with no choice but to believe in what she saw.

The one question that was left in Caleb's mind, was how he would find the spirit and kill it. The spirit would have killed him if Dawn had not been there to intervene. Letting that startling thought run through his mind for a minute, he looked at Dawn again and saw she was starting to calm down.

"What was that?" Dawn asked, not for the first time since the spirit disappeared.

Caleb sighed. "I already told you. It's what I do."

Dawn stared at him uncomprehending. Over the years, Caleb had become so used to seeing the kinds of things most people saw in their dreams. That exposure blinded him to what he once thought about the things Jim and Bobby told him when they started training him. It was hard for him to believe it, and it was only when he was presented with proof that he accepted it.

"But what _do_ you do?"

Caleb sighed, wondering how this conversation would go when she already knew what she had seen. It was much better than debating a way to tell her when she did not know. Now that she did, it would be easier but even harder. Undoubtedly she would have questions as to why she never knew, or even why he hunted the things he did. Whatever questions she had, he was ready to answer them.

"I hunt them. I hunt those...types of things."

"What-what was that?" Dawn asked, her voice weak.

"A ghost...or a spirit."

Dawn looked at him with her mouth open. It was a look he had never seen before in all his years of knowing her. Dawn was the kind of person who was unflappable in everything she accomplished, and when she went before a judge or jury. There was nothing that could have scared her until she ran into the spirit that nearly killed her friend.

"I thought they only-"

"I know," Caleb said, understanding what she was about to say. "Most people only believe the generic crap they see on TV and movies."

"You hunt them?" Dawn asked. "I mean, how do you hunt those things-"

This was good; at least she was asking questions instead of running out of the room and calling him out for what he did. There were hunters he knew of that tried to involve a friend or significant other in their life, and it backfired on them. Having her stay for the conversation, was promising that she would not leave him after all was said and done.

"I have for a long time."

" _Why_? Doesn't that strike you as being-"

"Crazy? Stupid?" Caleb supplied.

"Well," Dawn said, pausing to think about it. "Yeah."

That was the reaction most people had when they found out about the life hunters had. If people did not run out of the room screaming, they questioned their sanity in pursuing something so horrible. Caleb was able to understand the latter point of view easier than he was able to process the people who ran out the very instant they heard it.

"I kinda had no choice."

Thinking back to the perilous time after his wife died, was hard for him. It was even more challenging when he finally accepted the existence of the monster who killed her.

"What do you mean?"

"My wife was killed by another type of monster. It ended up starting me on this journey."

"Do you realize how crazy this is?" Dawn asked, staring at him as though she was staring at a different person.

Caleb nodded. "I do."

If there had not been anyone to help acclimate him to the existence of the supernatural, he would have reacted the same way she had.

"That woman? Do you know who she is?"

"No."

That was where he knew he needed her help. Looking at her, he captured her gaze in his. There was nothing in her eyes but admission of what she saw, and belief in what Caleb told her.

"What do you need me to do?"


	7. Chapter 7

It was difficult for Jim to rid his mind of not only the exhaustion that filled his every thought and action, but also the irrepressible sound of the prosecutor's voice informing him of Caleb's arrest. The implications behind it, was heartbreaking for him and the rest of his family.

For those who knew what an outstanding person Caleb was, the charges were unfathomable. He would be the last person to hurt a _fly_ , much less another human being. The murder charge that had the potential of putting him away for life, was the one charge Jim found himself hoping would never come to fruition.

With a shifter at fault, he knew how tricky the charges would be to beat. Shape-shifters were notorious for causing death and mayhem wherever they went. Not only did they kill their victim, but later blamed it on the innocent party. The smoking gun for _any_ prosecutor, would be the plentiful supply of forensic evidence to link Caleb to the crime.

Even though he initially thought about _not_ taking Sam and Dean with him to Medina to be there for Caleb when his arraignment took place, he decided to let them come when he saw the devastation in their eyes. They may not have been able to see Caleb during his arraignment, but Jim felt secure enough in letting them ride with him and Bobby to the town.

That was the day before.

Now he had to think about subjecting himself to the impossible notion of seeing his friend in chains. This was an arraignment, and so there would be no need for Caleb to make a positive impression on a jury. Imagining his friend in such a horrible situation was hard on most days, but on the morning of his day in court, it was inconceivable.

Swiping a hand across his sore eyes after a night of little sleep, his eyes landed on the two boys who were sleeping across from him. In the absence of space in the single hotel room Jim splurged on, the boys took the bed next to his. Bobby was splayed out over the sofa that he manipulated to resemble an actual bed.

Wondering how he was going to (gently) break it to Sam and Dean that they would not be attending the arraignment, he distracted himself from answering that question by dragging himself up from bed. Stretching out his muscles, he slowly went through the motions of making himself some coffee. The space was tiny, but workable.

Inhaling the lukewarm liquid that slithered down his throat, he was amazed that Sam and Dean were still sleeping after the noise he made. The night had been hard on both of them, and it had been difficult to find the peace of mind to sleep.

His heart swelled with sympathy for them. Crossing the room to their bed, he gazed down at them. Carefully untangling the superhero figure from Sam's fingers, he covered the child with his share of the blanket.

Turning to Dean, he could feel his heart splinter in his chest when he saw Dean's hand was threaded through Sam's. When Jim directed his eyes to Dean's face, he saw the dried tears on his cheeks from a night spent mourning his guardian.

There was nothing the pastor longed for more than to somehow ease the agony going through both boys. Caleb was essential for them and not having him, was proving to be a hard thing to bear. If there was one thing Jim _wished_ he could make the prosecutor understand, it would be for him to realize how kind and loving Caleb was. Such a person would clearly not be capable of a vicious murder.

From what little he got from Dawn when she called to give him an update, the arraignment would be quick. Bail would be denied, and a preliminary hearing would be set for the future. It was bad enough that Caleb was locked up, but to know a judge would deny him the chance to get out, was even harder.

Jumping a little when he heard something on the outside, he relaxed again when he saw a stray cat knocking the lid off a trashcan. Shaking his head, he took another gulp of his coffee and turned to look back at the room he was in. Dean was starting to stir, and he was already dreading it. The child did not deserve to live with this cruel knowledge. It was yet another reminder why he made the decision not to involve the boys in the hearing.

If Dean was already reacting to what was happening and was tormented at the truth of Caleb being incarcerated, how would he react to seeing him in court? Jim knew the answer, and it was not good.

The twelve-year-old blinked one eye open, seeming to remember that he cried during the night, and swiped the remaining few tears away. Giving him a warm smile when Dean met his gaze, he motioned to the pot of coffee.

They rarely allowed the boys to have coffee, but Jim was willing to make an exception that morning. Dean was slower to move. It was easy to understand why. Watching him carefully maneuver around Sam to get up, he saw Sam begin to move a little.

Silently passing Dean a cup of the coffee, he raised his eyebrows when he saw the child immediately grab the creamer and several sugar packets. Shaking his head with amusement, he took another sip of his coffee and winced when it tasted much too harsh in comparison to Dean's.

"You want some sugar, Jim?" Dean teased. "I won't tell."

"You caught me, I'm afraid. I'll have two," Jim confessed, sighing in defeat.

"I knew you'd crack eventually. Not having any sugar or cream in your coffee? It's like...a crime against humanity."

Jim supposed he could not debate it that morning. Accepting some of the cream and sugar he rarely used, he was pleasantly surprised to find a soothing taste that contradicted his earlier opposition.

"Don't let this get to your head," Jim warned. "But I think the coffee is _much_ better this way."

Dean nodded seriously, as though he was claiming victory over a very important matter. Glancing over at Sam, he was amused to see him trying (and failing) to get his brain to follow what his body wanted.

"It's time you start accepting the truth: I'm always right." Dean smiled; his eyes glowing. "Ever since Caleb introduced-"

And then it was gone. That one moment where Jim caught Dean in a mood that was far-removed from the previous night. Watching his face crack and transform to the quiet, reserved one was a very difficult thing to witness.

Sam chose that time to rise from his bed. Wondering how Sam would react to the sudden tension in the room, he was pleased to watch Sam wrap his arms around his brother. Dean stiffened when Sam hugged him, but eventually seemed to calm down.

"Dean," Sam whispered, pulling back from him. "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, bravely plastering a smile on his face. "I'm good, Sam."

Jim knew it was not _completely_ true. He could still catch a glimpse of the tears that dotted Dean's eyes. The problem was Dean's unwillingness to share his pain. It was a hang-up Jim tried to break before without much luck.

Sam, much like his guardian, did not seem to believe Dean was really "good" when all of them knew each other so well. It was one powerful advantage of being close to one another.

"Are you upset about Caleb?" Sam wondered, his expressive eyes full of understanding.

All of them had been impacted by the news of Caleb's arrest. Dean, without a doubt, took it the hardest. Being afforded the chance to have such a powerful connection to his guardian, was good on the best days. However, when something happened, that was when the bond took on a more painful turn.

Not to Jim's surprise, Dean shook his head when Sam voiced that question. It was written all over his face that he was upset about Caleb, but he was not about to give voice to those emotions.

"No, Sam. It's okay. The stupid hearing will clear everything up."

If only it _would_ and Jim would have assurance that their nightmare would be over before it started. With Dawn's troubling statement swimming through his mind, he knew it would not be possible for Caleb to return home that morning.

Dean's face looked completely self-assured of this fact. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be released at his arraignment. Breaking that optimistic train of thought, was the last thing Jim felt like doing.

"Dean," Jim said, taking notice of Bobby waking up. "Caleb won't be...he won't be released today."

Just as quickly as Dean adopted the mindset that he undoubtedly clung to with all that he had, his face fell for the second time that morning. Hating to be the host of such bad news, he looked at Bobby and saw his face was composed into one of concern for Sam and Dean.

Dean was beyond words after processing Jim's startling statement, but Jim could see the anger start to gather behind his green eyes. The hunter could not blame him when he knew how untrue the charges were. To Dean, it would look like he would never see Caleb again when Jim knew he would.

"Why won't he be released?" Sam asked, his voice breaking. Sam was not as self-conscious about crying like Dean was.

"Because," Bobby explained, sitting down in the chair and then pulled Sam into his lap. "The cops have evidence that ties Caleb to this crime."

Sam struggled to understand what Bobby was talking about. To a small child, it had to be incredibly confusing to think about a complicated court case. The evidence the police had was fabricated by the shifter, but they had no way to see it.

"What about the arraignment?" Dean asked. "We're going, right?"

"Not this time, Dean."

* * *

Entering the courtroom before the start of the proceedings, Jim knew he made the right call in choosing to keep Sam and Dean back at the hotel. Staring at the packed courtroom with countless reporters and the victim's family, it made the entire situation that much more desperate. Choosing a place near the front where Caleb would hopefully be able to see him, he looked back toward the door he just came through when he saw Dawn.

Dawn was Caleb's lawyer, but she was also his friend. That was never made clearer to him than when he was able to pick up on the subtle smiles and whispered conversations they had when they were around other people. This would be the first time Jim would get the chance to see them interact when the atmosphere was anything _but_ the informal one they were more used to.

When Dawn noticed him sitting among the people that had come to ogle at what was happening, he switched sides so they would get the chance at having as much of a private conversation as they could. Jim was not holding his breath when he noticed the reporters inching over to him. Everyone knew who he was to the community of Blue Earth and Steele County where he now lived with his family. And everyone _also_ knew that he formed a family with the defendant and their two boys.

Wishing they would go away and leave him alone while he tried to sort through his thoughts coherently enough to pick Dawn's mind about what was happening, he saw her face was much paler than what he was used to. Wondering if something happened that he was unaware of, he was almost afraid to ask that question.

In the back of his mind, he was curious to know how he would react to seeing Caleb escorted into the courtroom under tight security. It was nothing to watch the process being played out on crime shows and the fictionalized setting of a criminal case that only bore a slight resemblance to reality. Having it happen to his family, was another thing altogether.

"Dawn," Jim said. "What's the plan for today?"

"The plan is to enter a 'not guilty' plea. Then we're going to set a date for the preliminary hearing."

"When will that be?"

The defense had the option of requesting additional time to gather evidence. With Dawn, he knew she liked to operate under speed for her client's sake. No one liked to be locked up for a crime they did not commit, and Dawn was one of the few lawyers who worked under that knowledge. It was one of the very first things that drew Caleb to her, and why Jim held the respect for her that he did.

"In a few weeks. It won't be any longer than a month."

"How is he-?"

The question was answered for him when a door was opened that led from the jail part of the courthouse. Holding his breath while he watched the guards walk in, he was able to get his first view of his friend in several days. Studying Caleb while he walked over to the defense table where Dawn had gone to seat herself, he could see how pale he was.

The guards did not leave until he was seated. Once they retreated to a corner of the room where they would be seen but not heard, Caleb turned in his seat and gave Jim a small smile. Feeling glad that he could bring some amount of comfort to Caleb when he needed it most, he stood with the rest of the courtroom when the judge entered. When they sat back down, Jim tried not to notice the restraints that hindered Caleb's ability to walk and sit down normally.

It was degrading and out of place on someone like him. The more he saw of what was happening, the more he became convinced he made the right choice in not having the boys there. The hearing started shortly after, with the judge giving a basic timeline of what allegedly took place.

Not to his surprise, the prosecutor wasted no time in presenting his best case for why Caleb should not be released on bail. There was no chance for him to see Caleb's face, but he could see him bow his head as though he was fighting tears.

Dawn countered his assertion with one of the best arguments she had. When she mentioned the existence of a witness who was able to provide an alibi for Caleb, his hopes were dashed as quickly as they came when it made no difference to the judge. The momentary flash of anger that went through him when he thought about Dawn's plea being shot down so quickly, was tempered with the realization that the forensic evidence was the sticking point for this man.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat when the prosecutor began to prepare to launch into what the investigative team managed to dig up, he could feel his heart restrict in his chest. Forensic evidence was one of the most sophisticated forms of finding and collecting evidence from a crime scene. Without it, too many people went free who should have been imprisoned. The same could also be said for those who had been wrongfully convicted without that vital aid.

With what the case centered around, Jim knew to expect forensic findings that would sway in the favor of the prosecutor. Thinking back to the boys, he wondered how they were. Dean was disappointed that he would not be allowed to go with him to the courthouse, but his anger was somewhat dissolved when Bobby promised to take him and Sam for ice cream.

When the prosecutor gathered up his papers to begin the next portion of his speech, he could see Caleb tense in his chair. Years of knowing someone as intimately as he knew Caleb, had gifted him with the ability to understand some of what he was feeling. With the heart Caleb had, Jim could not fathom how he must have felt being accused of something so heinous.

Jim tried not to listen to the man, but his voice carried.

"Your Honor, we have the report from the Medina county crime scene lab. These people, as you well know, have been in business for over thirty years. They have continued to provide top-notch services to those in this area. Most especially concerning the more recent invention of DNA evidence, they have quickly risen to be one of the best crime processing labs in the country.

Their findings were sealed in evidence. What they collected at the crime scene were hair samples from the victim, Alexia Branch. One of the hairs was discovered to be the defendant's. Those samples, along with blood splatters found in the living room and kitchen portion of the home, were collected as well. When the defendant was taken into custody on the night in question, a DNA sample was taken from him."

The prosecutor then surrendered a file concealing the all-too-important DNA findings to a bailiff to hand to the judge. Watching the bailiff pass the files over to the judge, he could feel his heart hammer in his chest. This was not a preliminary hearing and so there was no need to get into detail concerning the DNA evidence, but he understood what the prosecutor was trying to say.

The thought of it was sickening to him. This was something that never should have happened. How many times had Caleb gone on a shifter hunt and emerged as the victor? How many times had he completed solo hunts and been completely fine? Too many times to count. It was only when he heard a sob from the back part of the room, did he realize that the victim's family was sitting in the back.

The pastor's heart expanded with sympathy for them-they were the ones who lost someone. Jim supposed he could be grateful he was not the one being forced to sit in a courtroom while the man who supposedly killed his loved one, was in the spotlight. Turning around in his seat to glance at them, he could see them doubled over with the force of their sobs.

Once the judge handed the files back to the prosecutor, the man continued his speech to him. The technical part of the proceedings that concerned the intricate process of collecting the samples and cordoning off the crime scene, was what fascinated him. Modern advances in matters like this, always served to bring his attention.

"On the night in question," the prosecutor continued. "When the police caught Caleb Rivers trying to flee from the crime scene, they found several articles of clothing that were later determined to be a positive match for his blood and the blood of the victim. The accuracy of that report, as you saw, was 99.999 percent. A virtually _perfect_ match.

The reasons for why he should not be released on bail? I believe I just outlined that for you. He was trying to run. He has forensic evidence against him that is indisputable at this juncture. The risk to public safety, would be considerable. I need you to make the right decision and not release this man."

The prosecutor was good, and managed to hit the right spots to impress the judge.

The judge, however, chose not to render his verdict until the arraignment was over. To that end, the moment they were all waiting for, finally came. Watching Caleb stand to enter his plea, he forced himself to keep his eyes on him. Caleb was visibly struggling to hold his composure until the hearing was over, and Jim marveled at his ability to do so under such intense scrutiny.

"As to the charge of murder in the first degree in the death of Alexia Branch on the night of February 19th, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not g-guilty." Caleb's voice caught on the last word of his plea, and it broke Jim's heart.

"Let the record reflect that the defendant has entered a plea of 'not guilty.' As to the charge of attempting to destroy evidence, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty."

Caleb's voice was much stronger this time when he entered his not guilty plea. Watching him sit back down once the judge formally submitted his plea for the record, he could see Caleb lean toward Dawn to whisper something to her. There was no way he could hear what was said, but he could understand it was something fairly serious from the nod Dawn gave him.

After that, the judge did exactly what Dawn warned him he would do. With the inclusion of evidence that made it probable he was there at the crime scene when Lexa died, he denied Caleb bail. Even though Jim was well-prepared to hear those words come from the judge, it still did nothing to heal the ache in his heart when he saw Caleb wipe tears from his eyes.

The only possible way for him to be released in a timely manner would be for there to be a quick trial. From his limited amount of experience in counseling those whose family were on trial, the trial sometimes took years to get together. Jim hoped that would not be the case for Caleb. He hoped Dawn would be able to get the ball rolling if his preliminary hearing did not go as planned.

The hearing ended with the judge setting a date for the preliminary hearing-three weeks from then. It was not the months Jim thought he would be preparing the boys for, but it was not much better. Standing up when court was adjourned, he saw Caleb look over at him before his attention was gained from the guards.

Leaving him to be taken back to a cell, was heartbreaking for him. However, he had no choice but to let the law do what the law would do. In the back of his mind, Jim knew they would have to come up with a plan if his prelim hearing ended in a bad way. There was no part of him that desired to make a life on the run, but he would do it if he had to. With that stabilizing thought in mind, he walked out of the room with a slight spring in his step.

One way or another, he would get his friend out.

* * *

Locating the patience to wait for Jim to return from the arraignment, was difficult for Dean when he longed to be able to see his guardian. It had been days since he last laid eyes on Caleb before he left with his friend for their hunting was too long in his mind. The thought of someone thinking the absolute _worst_ about Caleb, was unimaginable for him when Dean knew his heart and how amazing he was to him and his brother.

Sam was enduring much of what his brother was. The child was grappling with the scary understanding that Caleb was in jail for something he did _not_ do. The idea of him having enough malice in his heart to murder someone, was impossible for Dean to think about. Even though he tried to distance himself from that painful truth, it was much easier said than accomplished.

He wanted to attend the hearing that would result in a date set for the preliminary hearing, but both Jim and Bobby vetoed that idea. Dean could understand where their concerns came from, but it did nothing to ease the frustration he had that he was not allowed to support Caleb. Pacing the hotel room became his coping method of choice, while he waited for Jim to come back and tell them everything that happened.

That was before Bobby took it upon himself to spring the boys from the hotel room for a bit and get some treats. The ice cream was a welcome relief to him and his overjoyed tastebuds. Reveling in the delicious taste of the treat that melted in his throat, he looked at Sam and saw that he was enjoying it just as much as he was. This was nice; the chance to get out and enjoy something again.

Bobby would never admit this to anyone, but Dean could see he was relieved the boys were able to have fun. The concern was one Dean appreciated from him. Walking back into the spacious hotel room they had, he almost regretted coming back to it when he knew the hell that would await him there. When he strode through the room, he was surprised to find Jim was already back.

Dreading hearing the information that would cement the grief in his mind that he would not be able to see Caleb for the foreseeable future, he caught a note of grief in Jim's face before he regained control of his composure. Silent while he worked through the pain in his mind that tempted him to release the pent-up emotions he could feel, he walked over to where the pastor was and took a seat across from him.

In response to what Jim must have seen on his face, he reached out and stroked Dean's arm. Dean was someone who usually rejected physical touch unless himself (or Caleb and Sam) initiated it. However, he did not have the mental strength to resist it when he needed it. Running his fingers through his eyes, he prepared himself to hear what he knew would be a very difficult recount of what happened in court.

None of it should have ever happened, and that was the hardest thing to accept.

"How is he?" Bobby asked, his voice tight as Sam climbed into his lap.

"He's...he's alright," Jim answered, repressing a sigh. "I didn't get the chance to talk to him, but he seems to be doing okay."

Dean knew that was the best he could hope for given the circumstances. As for him, he could not imagine what it would feel like to be accused of something he did not do. The amount of rage he felt at what his family was going through, was overpowering. Slowly shaking his head, he focused his eyes back on his guardian.

Jim was the pillar of courage and strength they all needed at a time like this, but Dean could see the evident cracks start to form in his usually unshakable pastor. It was disheartening to realize that Jim had not yet been granted the right to see Caleb.

"What did the judge say?" Sam demanded. "Did he let him go?"

Jim shook his head, reaching out a hand to rub Sam's shoulder. "No, Sam. Not for a little while longer."

"But why?" Sam pressed, his tone taking on a whining edge.

"Because," Bobby filled-in. "There has to be a process that's completed first. The next step in this whole thing is the preliminary hearing."

From the confused look on his brother's face, Dean knew he had no clue what that all meant. In a way, Dean wished he could have Sam's uncertainty. That was something that would have most likely removed some of the pain and heartache from his soul. The next shot they had at getting Caleb released from jail, was the one hearing that would determine if he was going to trial.

"What's that?" Sam asked, his voice subdued.

"It's where they present evidence to understand if there's enough to send that person to trial," Dean explained. "It's complicated, but if there's enough reasonable doubt to exclude him from the crime, than the judge will let him go."

Not that Dean actually thought their luck would allow for such a miracle, but he was cautiously optimistic in Dawn's ability to work her magic in the courtroom. Dean had never seen her at work before, but hearing Caleb and Jim talk about her was enough for him to know she was more than prepared to handle it.

Sam was still bewildered about everything that was being explained to him, but Dean could also see the understanding in his smart eyes. Losing Caleb was more than just about him: It was about Sam losing the only parental figure he had ever known apart from Jim and Bobby.

Consumed with the sudden, rushing thought of what would happen to them if Caleb went to trial and was convicted on a first degree murder charge, he lowered his head and let the tears fall. There was nothing he could do to stop them when they came, and that was all because of the intrusive fear he had at never seeing his coach and confidante again.

Before that time, he allowed himself to meditate on the hope of something miraculous happening that would free Caleb from the position he was in. Processing the wealth of evidence against him and how it would be used to prosecute him, was terrifying to Dean. Trying to stop the influx of tears to the best of his ability, he felt Jim's soothing hand on his shoulder as he squeezed it comfortingly.

Leaning into Jim's side while he tried his best to stop the tears from falling, he could see Sam through his blurred vision while he hugged Bobby. All of them were crying, and it was that release they all needed when the stresses of life got to be too much. Crying until he absolutely could not anymore, he inhaled a long sip of his water and attempted to fight back control over his own self.

Clenching Bobby's hand when the hunter reached across the space that divided them, he could feel an insurmountable amount of hope and peace go through him. Whether it was because he finally allowed himself the opportunity to break down, or because of the realization that he would be okay, he did not know.

Jim smiled softly at him, his face quickly recovering into the one of charge and attitude Dean was used to. If there was one thing he knew to be grateful for, it was the fact that he still had Jim and Bobby, and not to mention his little brother. The pain at being separated from one of his closest confidantes was only tripling in size with each day that passed, but he was feeling the tiniest bit hopeful it would not stay that way forever.

"Dean," Jim said. "I need you to know something."

"What?" Dean asked, his voice still shaken from his crying session.

Jim hesitated, and Dean could tell this was causing him great hassle to say it aloud. It either had to be something very good, or something very bad. With how Jim was responding to what he was going to announce to him, he had a feeling it could be either one.

"I talked it over with Bobby while you were sleeping. If you want to, Dean, you can go to Carthage to take care of the problem there."

"Seriously?" Dean said, hardly daring to believe he would be entrusted to help with a hunt like that.

That was the one thing he had been pushing for ever since discovering the case by chance. Carthage would do more than just give him a chance to hunt. It would also do wonders in distancing him from what was happening to him personally.

"Seriously," Jim confirmed. "Only if you think you can handle this."

"Oh, believe me, I can."

* * *

 _So that is why Dean is allowed to go on the hunt in Carthage. A way for him to separate himself from his upset over Caleb, and to also give him the opportunity to put all of his practice into good use._


	8. Chapter 8

Since becoming a pastor and taking an active role in counseling those who were going through a difficult time, Jim was sometimes tasked with visiting an individual in jail. Walking through the imposing metal detector and surrendering his personal items for safekeeping, had become habit for him when he remembered how much of a help his visits would be.

Sitting with them; talking to them and hearing how they got to where they were, was always a sobering experience. During those sit-downs, he would do his best to impart words of knowledge and give that person something to live for again. Sometimes the talks helped, and sometimes they accomplished nothing.

Stepping out of the car, the hot sun shining on his face, Jim could not believe where he was. Looking at the county jail that loomed before him, he could feel his heart tighten in his chest. Striding across the parking lot, he could feel a hundred different emotions slam through him until he was momentarily breathless.

This was wrong; this was _not_ supposed to be happening. There was no way he was entering the lobby to see his friend in _jail_. A staff member greeted him and took his things, before directing him to a square-shaped sign that hung right above a series of doors separating him from the rest of the jail.

According to the printed words, he was not allowed to share any physical contact with Caleb. All of the possessions he brought into the jail, would be kept at the front desk. If he wished to give Caleb any books or snacks, it would have to be done through his commissary account.

Making a mental note to distribute some money toward his account before he left, he followed the guard down halls that all looked the same. It was astounding to him that none of these people ever got lost. Taking a deep breath while he prepared himself to see his friend for the first time in days, he felt his spine tingle with a chill that stole his breath.

Wondering if anyone else felt what he did, his question was answered when the guard made no indication of it. On-guard against anything springing an attack on him, he walked with more purpose in his step. Feeling a hopeful surge in his spirit when the guard directed him to a door that was locked from the outside, he prepared himself to see his friend.

When the key turned and the door was opened, he saw no one. Nodding when the guard explained that Caleb would be brought in shortly, he examined the room. It was bare apart from the table in the center of it, and the artificial light that hung above it.

Pacing the room while he waited for Caleb to come in, he felt his throat stiffen with how dry it was. In a way, it was because of how nervous he was. No matter what ended up transpiring between them, he knew this would be goodbye for the foreseeable future.

His bags were already packed to travel to Carthage later that day. Even though he and Bobby discussed their options at length and elected to take Sam and Dean with them, a part of him needed to know what Caleb thought of it.

Picking up sounds from outside, he felt his skin crawl when he noticed the light flicker above the table. If there was any reservations in his mind that he was dealing with a spirit problem, it was now gone. The problem rested on his inability to do anything to get rid of it when the jail was as secure as it was.

Jim was curious to know if Caleb went through any of what he just did. Rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold, he focused his attention on the sounds coming from the hall.

The voices he heard floating through the room, were too low for him to hear. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest while he waited. When the knob turned and the door was opened, he got his first unhindered view of Caleb since before his arrest.

He looked decent all things considered. His skin was paler than normal and he lost weight, but the smile was still on his face. For that, Jim knew he should be grateful.

They waited until the guards left to communicate anything. During that time when there was nothing but the noisy thoughts buzzing through his mind, he thought about how his friend was coping. Caleb was not one to complain, and he was skeptical he would get him to admit anything.

When the guards finally _did_ leave and they were given some privacy, Caleb relaxed. It was a marked change from the tense position he held while the guards seated him and took off one of the chains to allow him to sit easier.

It was surreal to be staring across the table at his friend and realize he was in jail. Before he walked through the room, he understood where he was and who he was seeing, but the reality of it was driven home.

"How are you?"

It seemed like a horribly inadequate question to ask when he had a pretty accurate assumption how he was.

To his surprise, Caleb smiled when he heard the question.

Caleb shrugged, lifting a hand for emphasis. When he did that, Jim could see some of his resolve start to falter. Even though his friend was projecting an image of confidence, Jim could see right through it.

"Can't complain: The view's _great_. The food ain't half-bad."

"Come on," Jim coached. "Do you really think I'm going to buy what you're trying to put out?"

The beauty of having lived with Caleb for the last several years, was that it granted him the ability to peel back the facade and understand what was happening underneath. Caleb winced when he heard Jim's comment, but made no further indication he was ready to talk about it.

"They, uh, they have me in solitary most of the time."

" _Why_?" Jim gasped.

Caleb scratched something behind his ear. It seemed he was trying to buy himself time before he had to answer the question.

"I have this stigma as an accused killer, Jim. Whenever someone picks a fight with me, I automatically get the blame. It sucks, but it is what it is."

"How long have you been in there before?"

It was impossible to miss the single tear that fell down his face. The unfairness of it was what broke the hunter's heart. Even if Caleb was looked at differently than the other inmates because of his status as a suspected murderer, it did nothing to ease the rage he felt for his friend.

"Few days. I just got out today. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here."

When Caleb turned his head to look toward the wall, that was when Jim could see the strips of skin that had been torn from his neck. Gaping at the wound that was only just beginning to heal, he was reminded of the feeling he got when he first walked in.

The injuries Caleb had on his neck, was proof that something was happening. Even though physical touch was forbidden in the jail, he could not stop himself from reaching across the table to inspect the wounds. They were nasty in how long they were and how painful they appeared. Caleb gasped when Jim's fingers grazed his skin, but he did nothing to pull back.

The pastor had the distinct feeling Caleb was enjoying a touch that was friendly and not one from the guards. The wounds appeared to be fine, but it was the thought of how he got it that was disturbing to him. The exhaustion in Caleb's eyes was the other thing he noticed when he got close enough to him. It did not take a genius to know he most likely had not gotten any real sleep since his arrest.

"What happened to your neck?" Jim asked, shaking his head when he pulled away from him.

"I got scratched in the night."

"I'd say you were more than scratched," Jim disputed. "It looks like you were gouged."

The only time he was ever aware of a spirit being angry enough to cause physical harm to someone, it was when it was especially furious. The feeling he got when he first walked through the back part of the jail to meet with Caleb, was further evidence of that. Without having to know the history behind it, he knew something happened in this jail.

The concern _he_ had was somehow doing something to prevent future attacks. If this spirit was not targeting Caleb, he had to know it would be going after someone else. When Caleb lifted his hand to show the underside of his arm, he could see a mark that was similar in nature to the severity of the wounds on his neck.

"I got the marks on my arm right before I was thrown into the hole."

"What's the 'hole'?"

Jim had the feeling it was nothing good. The more he understood the rigid process that occurred in the jail, the more he longed to break Caleb out. Shaking his head when he finally tore his eyes away from the ugly marks on Caleb, he looked at his face and saw his eyes possessed a haunted look in them that he seldom saw before.

"It's what they call solitary."

"Is that why they put you in there the last time?"

Caleb nodded. "They thought I was trying to hurt myself, and so they put me someplace where they could watch me closer."

It was astonishing to Jim that the jail would not try to help Caleb. Instead of providing him with resources to help with the wounds on his body, they removed him from the problem and put him in solitary for something he never even did. Horror was the number one emotion racing through his mind when he took into account what was happening.

"Didn't they help you at _all_?"

"They did, but the nurse thought they looked self-inflicted."

"So that's the reason for solitary?"

"They figured they had enough problems without worry about me doing something else. If only they had a _clue_ what I've been through in here."

Caleb bowed his head while he fought through the obvious pain that was in his heart. This was a side of Caleb Jim had never been privy to before. It was sobering, and disheartening. Caleb was usually someone who was lighthearted, funny, and able to make the best out of the worst situation. Having him look (and appear) so hopeless, was a new thing for the pastor to experience.

In a way, he wished the jail would take more notice of what was happening. He wished the officials in the jail would listen to what Caleb was telling them, that he never hurt himself. If they believed him, it would have saved him a pointless sentence in solitary confinement. Thinking about that word in relation to what Caleb went through, sent a chill down his spine.

"I felt something when I first came here. I thought it was just me. Then I saw your neck and I knew."

"It's some chick with red hair. I figured that would narrow the search a little. Especially since not a lot of people die in jails."

"Just the prisons they do," Jim theorized. "You're right about one thing: It definitely makes it a little easier to search around a bit."

Caleb nodded, running a hand down his face. "How long have you been in town?"

Jim shrugged, knowing he was about to enter into the territory of having to break the news to Caleb that he would be leaving soon. Their family was one of the few hunting families that managed to not only remain close, but also stay in one place. There was nothing more that Jim wanted than to be able to stay close to Caleb, but the call of duty to protect another life from being stolen, was his top priority.

"A few days."

"How are the boys?"

It seemed that question was one Caleb had the most difficult time asking. There was no one who was closer to the boys than Caleb. There was certainly no one else who had such a deep understanding of Dean, and who used that to develop their beautiful bond. Dwelling on their close relationship and how they were both suffering as a result of losing it, was painful for the pastor to think about.

"They're good," Jim said, hoping that if he recited those words enough times he would actually believe it for himself.

"How about Sam? How is he handling all this upheaval?"

Sam was one of the only people in their family who was handling things better than the rest of them. Maybe it was because a part of him was still too young to fully grasp the seriousness of what was happening. Or maybe it was because he figured that the matter would be resolved like it always was. Having that childish naivete was something Jim wished Dean could have when he was struggling.

"Sam's good. He's upset, of course. He's handling it a lot better than most of us are."

"What about Dean? How's he sorting through all this crap?"

"Dean is...he's really upset. He wanted to go to your arraignment, but I stopped that from happening."

"Good. It wasn't a place for him. For _either_ of them."

That was what Jim knew to be true. If the boys were upset about the thought of their guardian being stuck in jail, how would they have reacted to seeing him in court? Especially knowing his bail would be denied. At the time, he could remember being convinced he made the right choice in not involving them, but now he was positive when he saw Caleb's response to it.

"I want to see them, but not here."

"I understand that. Listen, I need to talk to you about something else."

Caleb nodded, lifting his head to better capture Jim's gaze in his. There was not really a part of the hunter that doubted Caleb would harbor any doubts about the boys going to Carthage, but he wanted to have peace of mind knowing he was making the right decision. As a hunter, he knew it was the right thing to do. The other part of him that worried, was concerned only about the boys and if they would be able to handle it.

"What is it?"

"Your thoughts about the boys going to Carthage to see what the heck is happening there."

Caleb was silent while he processed that statement. Jim took it as a promising sign when he could see him slowly nod his head. If nothing else, he wanted this trip to serve to distance Sam and Dean from the sadness surrounding Minnesota.

"I think it sounds good. I just want you and Bobby to be on guard. Especially if it **is** a ghoul."

"Believe me, we will be." Years of hunting had given him the smarts to pay attention during hunts like that.

* * *

Carthage, Missouri

Dean supposed breaking free from the pain of Minnesota, was a good thing for him. It had been days of struggling with how to feel about Caleb's arrest, and his anger at not being able to see him. Being able to leave that frustration behind, was a gift he was finding hard to ignore.

They drove for most of the day with Jim and Bobby driving separately. Settling back against the cool leather of the passenger seat, he thought about the hunt that was going to be waiting for him. According to a report they stumbled upon, the ghoul killed someone else. That fact only served to renew the sense of urgency he had.

It was still difficult to leave Caleb behind in the jail. Although there was nothing he could do to spring Caleb from the jail, being there was still better than nothing. His guardian should have been there with them; should have been riding shotgun while he said something that made all of them laugh.

Clenching his teeth to keep himself from crying when he refused to do so, he was glad when they pulled into the motel. It was in a nicer part of the town and seemed to be removed from the crime of further downtown.

The trickier part of the job would be for them to find the ghoul responsible. Because of its ability to masquerade as anyone it recently took a bite from, it could be anyone. Their job would be to figure out exactly _who_ , and kill it.

Shrugging on his sweatshirt when his legs got restless from sitting around, he looked for anything to do that would temper the anxiety he had. Remembering the burger joint down the street, he was glad to have somewhere to go to stretch his muscles.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"Out."

"Where?" Sam pressed, moving in front of Dean to block his exit.

"To that burger place. Does that answer your question?" Dean demanded, failing to keep the annoyance from his tone.

Sam thought over his options for a minute. During that time, Dean thought about if he would even be allowed to go out with the current situation. Deciding to worry about it later, he saw Sam nod his head.

"Can I go?"

Dean nodded. "I guess so."

It had been awhile since he had the chance to spend time with his brother by himself. The last few days had completely wiped him out. Feeling a smile spread across his face when he saw Sam's overjoyed reaction, he tossed him his sweatshirt and made the short walk outside.

The air was warm, giving him the false impression that he would not have to bundle up later. Waving to Bobby and Jim when he saw them unload some of their weapons from the car, he hoped they would choose to let him go on the walk.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he explained his plans to them. To his shock, Jim hesitantly agreed to let them walk down the street. Pocketing the knife Bobby gave him, he promised to be back before too late.

The streets were teaming with people who wanted to have a good time. Sticking close to Sam's side while his brother looked at _everything_ that was happening, his eyes were wide as saucers while they tried to figure out where to look next.

Grabbing Sam's hand when a careless man on a motorcycle narrowly avoided hitting them, he glared after him before resuming his stride. The amount of people who were out that night, made him curious if the ghoul would dare try anything.

Turning toward the burger place that was squeezed between a cluster of other similar food restaurants, he blinked in the sudden light from the lighted sign. Keeping his hand in his pocket where it touched his knife, he walked in.

The inside bore little resemblance to the chaos of the outside. Grabbing a table that was nestled in the corner of the room, he carefully looked around while a waiter took their orders.

"Dean, why do they have pineapple on the pizza?" Sam whispered, his mouth forming into a look of distaste.

"Because they have no respect. Anyway, we're getting a burger. Cheaper, and hopefully untainted by disgusting crap."

Looking toward the kitchen area when his stomach growled in protest, he was dismayed to find the swinging door to be still. Smiling a little when the soothing rifts of a Led Zeppelin song come over the loud speakers, he sang to the song under his breath.

"What song is that?" Sam asked, his own body responding to the song.

"The greatest song to ever exist."

It was apparent Sam did **not** understand what the fuss was about. Crinkling his nose the way he did when he was trying to figure something out, he looked at Dean again.

"I can't understand the words."

"That's because you don't have the gift."

"What gift-"

Dean did not have the chance to reply to him. At that moment, the door to the pizza place was opened to reveal the last person he would have expected to find there.

"Matt?"


	9. Chapter 9

It was starting to become more difficult to ignore the nagging issue of the spirit that seemed determined to torture him. If he was not being attacked in the middle of the night with scratches that almost always drew blood, he was being haunted by images of the woman with flaming red hair who seemed to find it amusing to pay him visits that only _he_ witnessed. The spirit liked to remain anonymous when he was around other people, but liked to bring out her claws when he was by himself.

For that reason, he despised the evening hours when the lights would go out in his cellblock and he would be alone with whatever might happen to him in those few hours where there was no one around. Tossing and turning on his cot had become habit for him when sleep became impossible. Winding his arm under the thin pillow, he tried not to think about what might happen during those hours. Everything was peaceful for the moment, but he was not willing to feel secure in that.

Looking toward his locked cell door when he could hear footsteps on the other end, he relaxed only a little when he saw it was the guard. The guards did nightly patrols, but somehow never ran into the spirit. Nodding to the man when he told him to go to sleep, he closed his eyes and tried to put on the impression he was. If only the guards and jail officials knew what they were dealing with; if only they could figure out that the _real_ killer in the jail was invisible to their naked eye.

He did not even want to _think_ about what might happen if the guards discovered a fresh wound on him in the morning. Allowing his thoughts to wander to that dark place was not conducive to obtaining a full night of rest. It was, however, something he was finding more difficult to cast aside. No matter how many times he tried to explain that he would never hurt himself, all the nurse had to do was tell the detectives that his injuries appeared to be self-inflicted. After that, he was hauled off for another stint in solitary confinement where they could "watch him better."

All the time in solitary did was give him the chance to think clearly about what he might do to help himself. There was little Jim or Bobby could do from the outside. Even if they opted to not take the hunt in Carthage, Caleb had a hard time imagining how they would successfully spin a story that would get them inside the jail. Everyone knew who Jim was because of his connections in Blue Earth. Certainly people knew about their family, and that was why they had to be careful.

In the stillness of the night when there was nothing to do but give himself over to the thoughts in his brain, he thought about the boys. He missed them more than words could begin to accurately describe. He had been with them every day for the last several years ever since he got the call from CPS about their father. Raising them, being with them and having that kind of connection to them, had been one of the highlights of his life.

It was for that reason being apart from them was proving to be a tough battle.

It was hard to be apart from them when Sam was wrestling with the truth about their lives. He was only a small child, and was having to come to grips with the scary knowledge that his family hunted evil. Bobby was the one who agreed to take him under his wing while he was visiting, and Caleb was grateful Sam had that support.

Dean was the other kid he dwelled on. He was twelve, and already lost more people in his life than was fair. While this was not technically a "loss" in the sense that his guardian was dead, he was still absent from his life. Swiping a hand through his eyes when he thought about Dean having to handle so much at such a young age, he looked toward his cell door again when he could sense something that immediately brought a chill down his spine.

As a hunter, it was instinct to him to pick up the slightest change in the environment that signaled to him that something was happening. It was a feeling that served him well over the years when he was tracking something in the wilderness, and it was proving to hold true for him now when he could feel something that did not feel right. Getting up from the bed, mindful of it being against the rules, he looked toward the slats in his cell door and saw nothing.

Unwilling to calm down until he was certain nothing was wrong, he stayed by his door. Picking up the sound of footsteps wandering down the aisle, he tensed. If the guard was back to impose their rules that he stay in bed, he would have no choice but to tell him there was something wrong. Holding his breath, feeling his heart make the descent into his stomach, he shook his head when he saw the portly guard take the chance of coming right up to his door.

"Rivers, in bed. Now!"

"There's something in here. If you're smart? You'll pay attention to this, and get the _hell_ out of here."

As predicted, the guard merely rolled his eyes at his statement, and shined his flashlight over Caleb to make sure he did not have any fresh marks. Relieved to be able to present wounds that were all old and healing, he hesitantly walked back over to his cot when the guard once again informed him that he needed to go back to bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he hid his head in his hands and waited for something to happen.

The only noise he heard came from the guard making his rounds. The echo of his footsteps soon faded from his ears, but he could still see his shadow move near the end of the cellblock. Wrapping his arms around himself when he could feel the imperceptible shift in the temperature, he could see white smoke coming from his mouth.

Jumping back, nearly tripping over the edge of his cot, he saw the same ethereal presence flow down the aisle past his cell. Striding over to the door once he recovered from the shock of seeing her again, there was no mistaking her red hair. For some reason, she opted to leave him alone for the night, and go after someone else.

Shaking uncontrollably when he heard the the sickening sound of the guard being slammed against the wall, it was not long before he could see the sickening splatter of blood that coated the wall. On both sides of him, he could hear the inmates trying desperately to gain the attention of the guards that were still in the control room.

The guard was still alive, but barely. Listening to the heart-rending sounds of him dying, was more than he could bear. Washing a hand down his face when he considered the enormity of what was happening, he looked at the clock that was positioned across from his cell. It was nearing the time when morning rounds would be made, and the inmates would be woken up for cell check.

Within seconds of the other inmates raising the alarm, the remaining guards in the control room, thundered into the room. The door bounced off the wall with the force of all of them coming in. Once they stumbled upon their friend's corpse, they cordoned off the cellblock and made arrangements to move the inmates to another empty block. Not that it would do anything to help when the spirit had control over the entire jail. Glad to be rid of the block when the guards opened his door and put the restraints on him to transport him to a new section of the jail, he was transfixed on the gruesome sight of the blood that pooled over a section of the block that was taped off.

Behind him, he could hear the other prisoners speculate about what might have caused the death. From their inexperienced opinions of the people who were walking with him, they could have sworn they saw an actual human enter the cellblock. If only they had the slightest idea that it was something infinitely more dangerous. This death, as tragic as it was, only increased his determination to get rid of the spirit.

The new cellblock was located on the other side of the jail. Caleb had never seen this side of the jail before, and liked it. It was newer and did not have the depressing stain of death that now permeated the older section. Reveling in the modern additions to this portion of the jail, he had the fleeting feeling that perhaps the spirit would not possess the desire to travel over to this part of the jail.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur for the rest of the people in his unit. Breakfast was served out in the pod, and he was glad to not be stuck alone in his cell for the breakfast hour. The food was nasty on the best days, but he inhaled it that morning when his mind was in a foggy mess after the night he went through. The other people around him, were passing stories of what they had seen that were grossly exaggerated for shock value.

Picking up snippets of conversation despite his best ability to drown it out, he looked up at the clock that signaled to him that visiting hours were upon them. Wiping his hands with the flimsy napkin, he felt his heart soar with excitement when the guards motioned for him to come over. That only happened when he had someone there to see him, and he was not about to pass that opportunity.

Letting the guards do what they had to to restrain him, he walked with them out of the pod and down the hall toward the conference room. There was no indication from the guards who was there to see him, but he had a good assumption of who it might be. Jim and the boys left for Carthage the day before, and he was not expecting them to change their plans.

Dawn would be the only one who would hold any interest in seeing him, and he hoped she had information for him that would cover both his criminal case, and the spirit. The way he left things with her the last time he saw her, she agreed to do what she could to help him research who might be tormenting people in the jail. Wondering how she would react to the sudden death in the middle of the night, he increased his stride when he thought about seeing her.

Every part of him was exhausted from the restless night he had that culminated in the death of the guard, but he did his best not to dwell on it. There was nothing he could have done about the guard, and that was something his mind was trying to admit to itself. Paying no mind to the restrictive hands the guards had on him, he obediently turned the corner toward the identical row of doors that all led into a different room.

Stopping outside the one that was the most secure with the electronic keypad that allowed people entrance, he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat when the door was opened to reveal his lawyer. It had been days since he had last seen her, and he was curious to find out how Dawn was coping with the unbelievable truth she now had about monsters being real. There was nothing about her appearance that suggested she was struggling, and he was not at all surprised when he remembered how strong she was.

Refraining from speaking to her until the guards left to stand outside, he slowly shook his head in astonishment at what the night held. It was clear Dawn had no clue what happened. Her eyes were focused on the healing wounds on his neck and arm that Jim reacted to the other day. Shrugging his shoulders when she reached out a hand to caress them, he could see the anger in her eyes that she normally only reserved for the courtroom.

"What happened?" Dawn breathed, shaking her head.

"I was attacked."

"When?" Dawn demanded, switching into what Caleb liked to call her "lawyer-mode."

It was difficult to remember the specifics of when he was first attacked. That first night was a blur to him that ended in him being thrown into solitary confinement for the first time. The wounds were painful, but they were slowly healing. The question that was on his mind, was how long it would be before he was the center of the spirit's rage.

With how erratic the spirit was, he knew to expect it shortly. Now that the spirit managed to actually kill someone, it was more than likely that the spirit would be looking for another chance.

"A few days ago."

"By _who_?"

Caleb shook his head, feeling tears line the bottom of his eyes before he wiped them off. There was no part of him that desired to relive something that painful when he knew what happened next, but there was also no way Dawn was willing to let it drop.

"The spirit."

Dawn opened her mouth several times, before she closed it. There was never a time previous to that moment when Caleb could remember her being speechless over _anything_. Having her react in the way that she was, let him know that he was not the only one who grasped the seriousness of what was happening.

"I found some information on who _might_ have bit the dust here."

"I'm not even going to ask how you still manage to pull off stuff like this," Caleb said, taking the folder she passed to him. "I'm just going to sit here and revel in it."

"I found all these at the library, and downtown."

Ever since Caleb first met Dawn when she helped him during a hard time in his life when he was accused of murdering his wife, he had come to rely on not only her confidence that she exuded to anyone she met, but also her assurances that everything was going to be fine. Now that she passed the test and accepted the reality of what he dealt with everyday, he was in even more awe at her ability.

Flipping the folder open to the first page that held a faded color portrait of a woman who was in the standard-issue jail uniform of the time, he focused on her hair. Her hair was as brilliantly red as he had come to associate the spirit with, but the rest of her facial features were wrong. It was disappointing, but he was not deterred in his efforts to flip through the rest of the images.

"The spirit killed someone last night," Caleb murmured.

"Who?"

"A guard. It was a bloodbath."

Dawn shook her head, cupping her hand under her chin. "Do any of these look like they could be her?"

"Not so far."

Going to the next picture that was set up alongside the original, he paused on it while he tried to connect the dots to her. This woman had the red hair, and the facial features to match it. Glancing at Dawn and nodding his head to let her know they had the right woman, he focused on the details of this person that would undoubtedly assist them in finding her remains and burning them.

The tricky part would be to find a way to do that while he was still locked up. Dawn would be the only one who would have the option of doing the dirty work while he was incarcerated. There was part of him that wondered how she would feel about breaking the law.

"Is that her?" Dawn pressed.

Caleb nodded. "I think so."

Handing back the folder once he pointed to who it was, he saw her study the contents of the report carefully. It was fascinating to watch her mind work in the way that it did to solve a puzzle like this. Having her handle the bulk of the research, took a weight off his shoulders. Now that he was sure they had the right woman, the next question concerned how she died and where she was buried.

"Florence Ingred. She was born in the late 1800s, and was accused of murdering her housekeeper over an alleged affair she had with her husband," Dawn read, her eyes widening with each word.

"Does it say how Florence died?"

"Not in here, no. It just says she was taken to this jail, and later died."

"I need to know _exactly_ what happened to her. I also need to know where she's buried."

Most normal people would have looked at him as though he was crazy, but Dawn simply nodded her head and tucked her folder back among her things. Caleb did not know what he would have done if he did not have her helping him. Without her vital assistance, the job of researching the case would have rested on _his_ shoulders.

"What are you going to do once you know where she's buried?"

" _You_ might have to get your hands dirty." Caleb paused, allowing Dawn to process that revelation. "Do you think you're up to it?"

"I'll do it."

* * *

Even though Dean could feel an immediate jolt that his best friend happened to walk into the same burger joint that he and Sam were in, part of him wondered exactly _how_ Matt knew where he was. Deciding to take things slow with him when he wasted no time in sauntering over to their table and planted himself right in the middle of the action, it was clear Sam did not harbor any of his concerns.

Elated to have someone else there that was closer to his age, he instantly launched into a thrilling tale of their recent adventures. When Sam touched on Caleb's recent arrest, Matt glanced over his way. His friend knew exactly how close they were, and Dean could feel the concern radiating from him. Appreciating it,even if he would never express it, he jerked his food out of the way of Matt's prying fingers.

Sliding out of the booth when he saw how late it was getting, he spotted a waitress that was resting behind the counter. Motioning for Sam and Matt to follow him, he smoothly stepped up to where they were only a few inches apart. This was what he loved; flirting with a beautiful woman. What he hoped was that she might be able to shed some light on their hunt.

"What can I do for you?" She asked, tucking her brunette hair behind her ear.

"I just wanted to know if you would like to have the opportunity to help solve a crime."

At twelve, he was too young to have his own fake ID. That small incidental did not stop him from swiping Jim's on the way out. Sliding it across the counter, she studied the picture, before looking at him.

"You look a little different than the picture on this card. Is this your Dad?"

Dean nodded, playing along with the story they commonly rehearsed for when they were in the company of strangers. Reciting it had almost become second nature to him.

"That's right. He's in town looking into the Welsh and Jameson murders." Dean paused, hitting her with one of his megawatt smiles. "You don't happen to know anything, do you?"

From the look in her eyes when she caught his gaze, she did not. Suppressing the disappointment he had, was the most difficult part. Gesturing for Sam and Matt to follow him from the suddenly crowded store, he was about to slam the door shut when he heard her high-voice calling out to him.

"They were regulars here. Before they died, they talked about someone stalking them."

"Did they say _who_?" Matt inquired.

"No."

Quietly thanking her for her time, he closed the door and walked out. The air had cooled in the amount of time they had been inside. Wrapping his arms around himself, he was grateful to see that most of the earlier traffic was gone. Sam was quiet while they traveled back in the direction of their motel.

Matt was equally silent, but Dean knew him well enough to know there was something churning in the back of his mind. He still had questions about how Matt was there, and why he seemed to know where they were.

"How did you know I was here?" Dean whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Matt asked.

"Showing up at the pizza place...knowing we were there."

Matt grinned, shaking his head. "You showed me this case, remember? I tried calling you to tell you I was in town."

"You did?"

Reaching for his phone that was tucked in his pocket, he could indeed see that Matt tried to call him. Dodging out of the way when Matt teasingly attempted to grab him, he saw the glowing neon light from their motel.

Increasing his stride to match Sam who was growing tired of being in the cold, he was never more glad to escape from the overbearing cold. Pushing through the door at the first chance he got, it was obvious Jim and Bobby were relieved to know he was fine. Sitting down in one of the dining room chairs, he breathlessly gave them the information the waitress shared with him.

Hunting a ghoul was not an exact science and that was proven true that night. If the victims were reporting episodes of being stalked before they were killed, it would add up with how the ghoul was choosing its prey. Overcome with disgust at this monster, he carefully examined the graphic crime scene reports.

"We might just have to pick this up in the morning," Jim said, looking at the clock.

"Um, actually, I was going to go dig around a little bit," Matt supplied. "See if I can't manage to at _least_ get a trace on this pathetic low-life."

Never one to miss an opportunity to finish a rough hunt, Dean volunteered himself to go. It was obvious Jim was skeptical about letting Dean go out late at night, but when Matt was successful in easing some of his fears, he reluctantly allowed him to leave on the condition he be back before midnight.

* * *

Strolling along the rural part of town where Matt seemed to think there was a chance the ghoul was present, he marveled at how dark everything was. Even with the help of artificial light from the street lamp, they were almost forced to pick their way blindly across the open range.

Not that it bothered Dean when he remembered the purpose he had in stopping this monster from striking again. Jogging across the street to reach the other side, he stared straight ahead at the older-style home. Beyond the missing side of it, he could see an old cellar that was just off to the side of the home.

Reaching for his flashlight when he became aware of how unwise it would be for him to be without protection, he slowly looked at the weeds and back paddock that once appeared to hold horses. Turning to walk back toward the cellar when he was not willing to risk a journey into the field, he could see Matt was already way ahead of him on his thinking.

Bending down low to shine his light on the opening while Matt pried it open, his eyes were met with the inviting glow of a light from somewhere down below. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the nervous jump his heart gave, he turned his body and started down the ladder.

Landing on the smooth ground underneath, he took a moment to check everything over. The place looked well-stocked to hold someone for an extended period of time. Running his fingers over a dusty glass jar of a substance that looked like blood, his stomach turned in distaste. Moving on, he lifted his shoe when it touched something sticky that he knew was certainly blood.

Moving back, his eyes landed on the coffin that rested in a darker part of the cellar. Unable to wrap his mind around a _coffin_ being in someplace like that, he hauled the top off the thing and saw nothing apart from cobwebs and small flecks of dirt.

"How are you holding up with everything?" Matt asked, stepping further into the room.

Dean shrugged; talking about his pain over Caleb was the last thing he felt like doing. Most of the time he was able to mask his feelings about it, but sometimes he discovered that some days were easier than others.

"I'm roughing it out."

"It has to be hard, right?"

Dean thought about his answer, before nodding. "Yeah, it is."

Turning around to further explore the coffin, he did not have the time to respond before a fist came from nowhere and slammed into the side of his head. Stumbling back, his eyes watering with tears, he focused on Matt through his blurred vision.

His "friend" showed no sign of stopping his surprise attack on him. Understanding flowed through his veins when he connected the dots. Grief was also another feeling that circled his soul when he thought about the _real_ Matt. There was no way he was alive, and that realization crushed him.

Not able to pause long enough to mourn his friend, he charged at the ghoul at the same time it did. Slamming his knife into its shoulder, he only succeeded in making it angry. The ghoul flipped the script on him, and slammed him against the wall. The breath was knocked from him (and also his knife), but he still fought.

Thanks to the methodical training he received from Caleb, he learned how to execute a number of different kicks and punches. All of those were being utilized to combat the ghoul. His strength was starting to ebb, but he still fought.

"Matt" was stronger than he was, and got him down on the ground. Even at that disadvantage, he still kept going. Delivering a kick to his stomach while he tried to get in a good position to make the killing blow, his defenses were destroyed when the ghoul reciprocated with an excruciating kick to his side that stole his breath.

Coughing, feeling his ribs burn with agony, he pulled his hands away from "Matt" when he hovered over him. His flimsy resistance hardly mattered to the ghoul, who jerked them back and tied them with rope. Pulling against it, he could not understand how he got to this point. Or how he would get out of it.

"You should have followed your gut instinct," Matt taunted.

"You killed my best friend. I'll kill you," Dean vowed.

"Not likely."

It was then the ghoul hauled him to his feet, paying no mind to his injured side, and directed him into the coffin. Landing on the hard floor of it, his spirit was more than willing to continue the fight. That chance, however, was never given to him when the spirit tied his feet. It was impossible for him to move around the bonds he was restrained with, but that reality meant little to him.

"Matt" hovered above him, his face one of victory when he stared at his victim. Consumed with rage over what happened to his friend, he spit in his face. That action only served to infuriate the monster, who had to restrain himself from attacking him.

What Dean did not anticipate, happened when the ghoul caught a whiff of the blood that was staining his stomach and chest from being tossed around the room. "Matt" smiled in a sickening way, before he lowered his head and fed from his shoulder.

The pain from the force of the bite was what ruled Dean's every thought and action. His mind was urging him to escape, but his body was hopelessly tied down. The scream that came from him when he felt the pain, was nothing compared to how he felt when he _knew_ the ghoul had torn through nerve and muscle with the bite.

The pain was blinding in every sense of the word. It blurred his vision, and kept him focused on it. In a part of his mind that was not thinking about the pain, he was aware of Matt gagging him. With his one weapon gone, he could no longer scream for help. His entire body pulsated with pain; his head was throbbing. His ear felt like cotton had been stuffed in it, and his side hurt.

Swallowing against the ferocious lump in his throat, he saw the ghoul finger his knife in his hand. To his relief, "Matt" did not use it on him. Instead, he used his finger to taste more of his blood from the large wound on his shoulder.

"I want you to know," the ghoul offered. "I killed Matt quickly. I had mercy on him. You, however, it's gonna be a _long_ night."

The ghoul turned away from him then, and disappeared up the steps of the ladder. The brief moment of solitude gave Dean the chance to think. The predicament he was in, was enormous.

In that moment as he fought through each breath, he wished he thought to interrogate Matt further than he did. He wished he followed what his gut conveyed to him, and stayed back at the motel.

Because now? Now he knew he was going to die.


	10. Chapter 10

If there was one thing Caleb knew to be grateful for in the midst of being forced to endure a harsh jail sentence, it was that his attorney managed to work yet another miracle for him and get his preliminary hearing moved up. Before she arrived at the jail with her surprising news, the hunter had basically subjected himself to the depressing realization that he would be forced to languish in a haunted jail until his day in court came. It was not the three weeks he had been preparing himself for, but the next _morning_ after a separate case was plea bargained.

Having the chance to have his day in court the next morning was as exhilarating as it was terrifying for him-he had no clue how a judge would look at the evidence that was presented in the case. It scared him when he thought about what _might_ happen if this different judge looked at the same evidence that the other one had, and made him stay in the jail until the trial. Caleb had no idea what he would do if the judge, after all the witnesses and experts were done testifying, bound him over for trial. It was a conclusion he was bracing himself for as hard as it was, and it was _definitely_ hard to think about sitting in a single cell for twenty hours of the day.

Tossing and turning on his bed the night before the crucial hearing dawned, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not with the jail itself, but with someone else. Ever since the guard was murdered by the spirit and the jail officials transported him and the others to a newer section of the detention center, the attacks had slowed down. The feeling he was grappling with, had to do with something else. The problem was figuring out what exactly, and how he would fix it.

Part of him chalked it up to irrepressible nerves overfacing a judge far sooner than he expected. According to Dawn, the hearing would last only a few hours before the final verdict was rendered. After that, he would have no choice but to go along with whatever happened. That was not a feeling he welcomed when he realized how good his chances were of being bound for trial with the evidence the prosecution had. No matter if there was someone who could verify his alibi, the plentiful DNA evidence was overwhelming.

Sleep was impossible for him that night. It was most nights he was away from his family, but the hearing the next morning, proved to be the one thing that kept him from being able to fully embrace unconsciousness for a little while. Rolling over on his side to look at the clock that hung above the outside of his cell, he saw it was nearing the magic hour when he would be woken up to get ready for court.

Inmates who had court hearings or trials, were woken up earlier than most to get ready. Some of the people who were scheduled to be in court right at the start of the morning, did not even have the chance to eat. Hoping that would not be the case with him when his stomach was already performing a series of acrobatic dance moves in his stomach, he slowly sat up when the guards announced their arrival by unlocking his cell door.

Unlike his arraignment when he was made to walk into court in his jumpsuit, the guards handed him a suit for this occasion. Having it on gave him confidence that had been sorely lacking before. This gave him the impression that he was suiting up for something important, that someone would take him seriously in court and would listen to his defense. More than that, it got him out of the oppressive uniform he had made do with.

To his surprise (and relief), the jail allowed him to eat breakfast in the pod before they took him. Usually he could barely stomach the foul-tasting food, but he shoveled it down that morning. It would likely be the only full meal he would get to have for the majority of the day. Standing up when he was through, he knew it was time to go. Standing in front of the guards while they chained him, he was strangely relieved to go through that process because he knew it was leading up to his precious chance in front of a judge.

A preliminary hearing was the last stop before trial. Sometimes a defendant was very lucky and got his or her case tossed out before the more serious trial happened. On the other hand, Caleb could recall many different instances where he heard something on the news that was the exact opposite of that.

As he walked through the jail and into the underground parking garage to climb into the police van, he hoped he would be one of the lucky few who was freed from the confines of a cell. There was nothing he wanted more than to find justice for Lexa's family, but that justice should not end with his life on the line. Looking out the slats in the door as they traveled, he saw snippets of a town he used to love. This was the same town that gave him his life back after his wife died, and now it was the same town that was doing all it could to end it.

Swallowing profusely against the lump in his throat that urged him to cry, he thought about the conclusion of the hearing making it possible for him to see his boys again. It had been just over a week since he was arrested, and already the bitter sting of separation was hard for him to ignore. There was so much that he could have (or should have) been part of that he was not.

The ride to the courthouse was not a long one, and for that he was grateful. The short ride gave him little time to prepare before the hearing, and that was a good thing. The darkness from moving into the more secure parking garage, met his eyes before his door was opened and the guards got him out. Walking with them across the wet parking lot toward the back entrance to the courthouse, he wondered what this hearing would do.

Would it end up good for him? Or would it hold him over for more of the same? As the guards led him into an elevator and they traveled up to the third floor, he knew to expect the worst. Thinking the worst was what would save him from bitter disappointment later. Stepping out, the guards led him down the hall toward a part of the courthouse that was reserved for inmates who were waiting on their hearings.

Stepping into the cell, he tried to relax until his case was called.

Resting on the hard bench located near the back of the holding cell, he gingerly rolled up the sleeve on his shirt and examined the fresh marks on his upper arm. The attack happened right before the wake-up call. Somehow, he had been able to conceal the marks from the guards. If he didn't? He knew what his punishment would be, and he dreaded it.

The spirit was still at large in the jail, and that did nothing to ease the frustration and nerves that pummeled his system. From what he was able to pick up from Dawn when she last came to see him to talk to him about the hearing that morning, she was digging through the town archives to figure out _exactly_ how this woman died. Having his attorney on his side in more ways than one, was a weight off his chest.

Paying attention to the sounds outside, he felt his heart pounding like a bongo drum when the same guards came back to his cell. Putting aside the sandwich he had been picking at, he felt sick to his stomach when they took him by the arm and led him down the hall toward where the courtroom was. He wanted this with all of his heart, but somehow it was terrifying to him. Swallowing hard, he had a brief second to prepare himself for what was to come, before the door was thrown open.

There was plenty of people in the courtroom that morning. Looking toward the galley where Lexa's family was, he could read nothing on their faces but determination to have justice for their child. A part of him wondered what exactly they thought of him, and if they believed the evidence the prosecution had. Spotting Dawn in her typical place at the defense table, he was only too happy to be seated there. Giving her a smile through his nausea, he focused on the meticulous notes she had.

Most of it was legal jargon he could not understand, but it was the words he _could_ understand that gave him a jolt. From what her notes communicated, she was ready to call the man who provided him with a sound alibi. Beyond that, she also planned on calling the head of a security camera company that might give the court a new angle to consider. Whatever she had up her sleeve, he had full confidence in her astounding prowess as a lawyer.

"Hey," Dawn whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Define 'okay'," Caleb whispered back.

Dawn did not respond while she listened to something one of the bailiffs said. Turning back to her, it was not difficult to spot the concern in her eyes. Over the last week or more, her concern was what managed to get him through the day. There was no sympathy from the guards, and certainly not from anyone else in the jail.

"You look pale as a ghost."

Caleb smiled a little at her ironic comment. "I'm just feeling all this this morning."

When Dawn visited him in jail the night before to give him the lowdown on what was going to happen, he only partially processed it. Now that he was sitting in a packed courtroom waiting for a judge who may or may not exceed his wildest dreams, he felt like throwing up. There was nothing he wanted _more_ than to walk out of the room a free man.

Understanding lit up his lawyer's face, and when she offered him comfort by rubbing his arm, he felt a warmth permeate his system that he had not felt in a long time. It was the small things she did for him that mattered nearly as much as the big ones. Her touches and soft reassurances that _everything_ was going to be okay, was a big help to him. Even if his mind was not totally in agreement with what she said.

Taking the crackers she discreetly passed to him, he could see the warning in her eyes to eat them. Not being foolish enough to risk her wrath, he quietly munched on them while everyone else started to arrive in the room. The prosecutor was one of the last people to arrive. He tried not to stare in his direction, knowing how upset it would make him to associate this person with his continued incarceration.

Standing up when the judge entered, he tried to look upon this man with a fresh pair of eyes that were not tainted by the earlier one. Sitting back down, he put all of his trust in his attorney. It was his only option, and the safest one when he considered what the alternative looked like. It did not take long for the judge to wrap up his introductory message to the court and the reason for the hearing. Settling back in his seat, he waited for the first witness to be called.

In a preliminary hearing, there was no need for courtroom politics that dictated which side went first. For that, he was grateful. The state went first and called their own forensic expert who was able to testify to the validity of the findings in the house. Not to his shock, the forensics that was collected at the scene, matched his to a "T."

Trying not to panic while he watched Dawn approach the podium to begin her cross-exam of the witness, he could see her shift the story away from his perceived guilt and to a more plausible explanation. It was truly fascinating to watch Dawn use tactics and words that changed the entire perspective on what was being said. By the end of it, he felt slightly better about his chances for having the case tossed out.

The forensics expert was only on the stand for an hour or less. It was a long time, but not nearly what he had been expecting. Covering a yawn with his hand, he could see Dawn glance his way when she saw it. Shaking his head to let her know it was okay, he leaned forward in his place when the court called the man who he talked to just before the murder happened. This man would most certainly be one of the deciding factors in how this case proceeded.

Dawn was the first one to approach him. Releasing the breath that had been imprisoned inside of him, he watched her confident gait and tried to mimic it for himself with how he was feeling. The witness was composed, much like he himself wished he could be.

"Please state your name for the record," Dawn said, grasping the edges of the podium.

The witness leaned forward, holding the microphone closer to his face. "Connor Welks. C-O-N-N-O-R W-E-L-K-S."

"What is your occupation?"

Connor cleared his throat; it did not take much to tell he was nervous about testifying. From what Caleb could remember of their brief encounter before the murder, he liked this man. He was the only one in the town who seemed to have a clue that something was not "right." The hunter used that sense Connor had to further use him for information about the murders.

"I am a detective employed with a private bureau."

"Are you often called upon to investigate disappearances and murders?"

"Yes, I am."

"And by whom?"

Connor lifted his hand in the air for emphasis. Reaching for his water that a bailiff set by his side before the start of the hearing, Caleb took a reassuring sup from it. His heart was pounding, but he felt better after eating Dawn's crackers. Keeping his eyes centered on her, he felt dread encircle his soul when he noticed the nearly undetectable drop in temperature.

The spirit was there, and it was anyone's guess whether or not she would choose to make a scene. Hoping that this would not be the case when he already had enough problems without anything being added to it, he settled back in his seat and tried to put on the face that nothing was wrong. Maybe if he thought that long enough, the spirit would decide to bother him later.

"Usually I am called by both state and local police. Sometimes I am referred to a certain family or private organization when there is a need for it. Mostly, it depends on the circumstance."

Dawn nodded, pausing in her speech to take a sip from her water bottle. "Do you remember being called by the family of Alexia Branch?"

It was through Lexa's family that Caleb met this man at all. In a strange twist of fate that was humorous to him, he could remember striking up a bizarre friendship with this man when they both mutually agreed that whatever was happening in the town, it was not natural. After ascertaining that Connor was not a hunter in disguise, he slowly began to rely on him for information for his hunt.

"I do, yes."

"What was the nature of their call to you? What was their purpose in establishing contact?"

"They wanted information on how they might possibly find evidence that would exonerate their son, who was accused of killing his aunt and uncle, from my understanding. The evidence was overwhelming, and they needed to have another outside source help them."

Not long before he was accused of Lexa's brutal slaying, Caleb visited her brother in jail and also the crime scene. From speaking with the young man and understanding once and for all that he was not dealing with anything but a shifter, it became clear what he had to do.

"And did you help them?" Dawn prompted.

"I did, yes."

"How so?"

"I was able to get information from their security cameras, and also from the crime scene itself."

Shifting his focus to the other parts of the courtroom that he could not as easily see, he felt his heart drop into his stomach when he noticed the spirit standing near the exit. Her flaming hair was billowing behind her, and she had a weapon in her hand. Staring with open-mouthed horror at her lopsided smile, he could not breathe as he watched her make the brazen move of scratching her razor across the wall near the light switch.

At least this time, he would not blamed for something he did not do. When the judge heard the odd scratching noise from the back of the room, he lifted his head toward it but did not make a comment. There was nothing to say when there was no one there that was visible to the court. Taking back control of his breathing, he knew Dawn was shaken by the spirit's outburst, but was able to continue her direct exam of the witness.

"Did you ever have an interaction with Caleb Rivers?"

"I did."

"Is he in this courtroom?"

Connor nodded. "He is."

"Can you point him out?"

Without hesitation, Connor pointed to him. There was a noticeable hush in the courtroom when he did, and Caleb could understand why. When Connor briefly met his gaze, Caleb was bolstered when he gave him a small smile. At least someone had his back through this.

"What did he say his purpose was in being in Medina? Did you ever discuss that?"

They had: Caleb could remember being more honest with him than he could ever remember being with an outsider. Through his honesty with Connor, he was able to get an early start with his hunt and was able to have access to all of his findings.

"He said his purpose was to help find the one responsible for the death. There was no other reason that he gave."

"Did you believe him?"

"Yes."

"Do you recall if he said he had an occupation that would explain his presence there?"

"He only said he was there on a personal investigation."

At that moment, Dawn changed the course of her questioning. Instead of focusing on the minute details around their first conversations, she was now switching to the night of the killing. When he saw what she was going to do, he felt sick all over again. After she was cleared by the judge to approach the witness with a still image of what looked like a security image from the road, he took a breath.

"Can you tell me what's happening in this picture?" Dawn inquired, once the witness showed the picture to the judge for his approval.

Connor nodded, staring at the picture that was clutched in his hand. There was little of it Caleb could see other than the grainy black and white that marked it for what it was. Whatever it was, he had to believe this would do _something_ in taking the burden of guilt off his shoulders.

"I am meeting with the defendant on the road on Jefferson street. It's near a park."

"The time on this image says it's around 8:55. Do you remember this being correct?"

"I do."

"How long did your conversation last?"

"About ten minutes."

With that timeline, it all but excluded Caleb from the crime. There was simply no conceivable way for him to have been in two places at once. The murder happened, but it did not come from him. With that statement from Connor, it was hard for him to resist the feeling of being uplifted.

Of course there was an immediate interruption by the prosecution who demanded their turn to approach the witness. To his amusement, the judge denied him that request until Dawn was finished. Watching her smoothly handle the prosecution and his infuriated remarks, it was like watching gold. Dawn was not one to fold under pressure, and was certainly not going to let anyone intimidate her into silence.

Once she was done questioning the witness, the prosecution had their turn. Instead of finding a new way to approach the questions and the powerful testimony he already gave to the court, the prosecutor worked to discredit him to the best of his ability. That moment came unexpectedly when the witness admitted to giving an interview to a local news station. It was a rule that had been broken by him the first chance he got, and that enraged Caleb.

If the judge ruled that his testimony was no longer valid because he spoke with a news station when he was not allowed to, he knew he would be going to trial. Without his critical testimony to secure his fate, he had no clue how the judge would handle it. The one thing he had going for him was the image on the security camera that captured the truth of their encounter. Even if the witness was discredited by his transgression, the hunter hoped the physical evidence would still be allowed.

The prosecution finished their cross-exam fairly quickly after getting him to admit that he did wrong. There was nothing else for them to dispute when the picture was in black and white. Holding his breath while he waited for the judge to make his ruling on whether or not the witness statement would count, he saw the fury in Dawn's eyes that Connor disobeyed an order.

The judge pulled no punches when discussing the bombshell that had been dropped in the courtroom. Far from being accommodating with this man after he found out about the interview he did, he lambasted him for going against a court order. However, as the judge reminded them, physical evidence could not be swayed by an interview. This man's testimony would be looked at as invalid after what he did, but the images taken from the security camera, would not be.

Even without his testimony to back up his defense, Caleb was still getting his chance. Relieved that Connor had not screwed up his one chance of getting out before a trial started, he watched him leave the witness stand like a scolded puppy. Diverting his focus away from him, not willing to let himself get upset about anything right then, he waited for the judge to make his final ruling.

This is what he had been worried about all morning, and now it was there. The judge spoke at length about proper conduct in the courtroom. He also talked about the importance of forensic evidence, and also the visual evidence from the security camera. What was confusing to this man was the obvious physical evidence that tied him to the crime, but also the contradictory image that dispelled that theory.

Caleb could appreciate the situation the judge was in. He could not fathom how irritating it would be to have a case that was as jumbled as it was. He hoped he would make the _right_ choice.

When the judge addressed the court with his ruling, Caleb could feel his heart lurch painfully. No matter what might end up happening, he would have no choice but to live with it. It was with that thought in mind that he forced himself to keep his eyes on the judge, and nothing else. Aware of someone holding his hand, he gave Dawn a grateful look that she was paying attention and knew how much he was struggling.

"The evidence against Caleb Rivers is substantial," the judge said in part. "There is the forensic evidence that clearly states he was there when the crime happened. On the other hand, you have video that was shown today that clearly communicates that he was _not_ **.**

The burden of proof this court has is, in most ways, lesser than the burden a criminal trial has. For our courtroom ethics, we must prove probable cause. Probable cause is similar in nature to the obligation a jury has to acquit or convict beyond a reasonable doubt, but it is not the same. For this reason, we have this system to dictate how a case should proceed.

With _this_ case, it is clear that the defendant was there forensically. However, he was not there physically. The obligation this court has is to abide by our laws and our ethics, and render a decision that is not in any way biased or conformed to one fact. That is why, I cannot in good faith, allow this defendant to be placed on trial when there **is** exculpatory evidence."

The breath Caleb had not even realized he had been holding, came out like a volcano. The idea that he was not going back to a solitary cell, was overwhelming. For once in his life, something good was happening to him before he went through hell. Processing the unbelievable news that he was going to be a free man, he looked at Dawn and saw the same look of gratitude that he knew was on his face.

He was beyond words while the judge finished up his closing statements. The one pitfall the judge mentioned was that Caleb would be at the mercy of the court if the court found evidence in the future that supported the theory that he killed Lexa. That did not matter to him: What mattered was the thought of having the option to walk out a free man.

When the judge dismissed the court, the guards came over to him. However, instead of cuffing him like he was used to at the conclusion of a hearing, they cut off the ID tag that he was forced to wear. Having that tag off his wrist was further proof of the break he was getting. Getting up from his place at the defense table, he wrapped his arms around his lawyer. There were not enough words in the entire world to convey how thankful he was for her and what she did.

"Thank you."

It was the only two words he was able to whisper to her without breaking down. Feeling tears flow down his cheeks, he could feel her smile against his suit. This was something they both hoped for, but both feared they would never have.

* * *

 **Dean**

The only peace Dean found in the few moments since the ghoul left him alone in the cold, dark underground cellar, was that he was not being faced with more attacks. The ghoul launched his surprise attack on him without warning, and that was its intention all along. Thinking about the choices that led up to his fateful decision to go with "Matt" to search for the monster, filled him with a regret that encompassed his entire soul.

Why did he not interrogate Matt further about why he was in Carthage? Why did he so easily accept his story that he came there to help? How could he have failed to pick up the warning signs that must have been there in some fashion? None of it mattered now; what mattered was somehow finding the courage to keep going. Everything in him was begging him to give up so his body could rest, but he couldn't. That would be going against everything he believed in.

The ropes he was tied with were too tight for him to manipulate on his own. Not that that fact stopped him when it was his life on the line. Pulling against the thick ropes that were bound tightly around his wrists and feet, he could not shift them. Laying back against the hard flooring of the makeshift coffin he was in, he could feel tears escape past his eyes and slide into his mouth past his gag.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to think about how critical the situation was. He was only fooling himself when he was brought back to reality by the large wound in his shoulder the ghoul created. When the ghoul fed on him, the powerful force of the bite was enough to tear through his nerve and muscle. With that wound, he was beginning to lose feeling in his arm and knew that he needed medical attention as quickly as possible.

It was hard for him not to travel to the dark place where he blamed himself for what happened. Examining his responses and actions that led up to this moment, was very easy for him. Shaking his head in disbelief at what was happening to him, his ears strained to hear what was happening on the outside that would warn him the ghoul was coming back.

How many times had Dean Winchester been faced with something that was truly evil? How often did he run into the line of fear instead of running _away_ from it? How many times did he disregard his own need for protection in favor of those who needed it? Too many times to count in the several years since his family-his _new_ family-began training him in the life after he found out the unfortunate truth from one of his closest confidantes, and his guardian Caleb.

Hunting, using guns and knives to further his chances of survival, was something he was used to. It was something that called to him; something that centered him to the ground more than anything else could. Being a twelve-year-old and already having an impressive amount of knowledge on the complicated way the different weapons worked, was not anything he knew should be happening to anyone but him.

Thanks to the careful training Caleb did with him down in the basement after school, he learned to hone the skills he needed for survival. Those times down in the basement in their workout room, also served the purpose of strengthening his bond with his guardian. In difficult times where Dean felt the keening sense of loss that eclipsed him after the death of his parents, Caleb would be there to offer a supportive word and a shoulder to cry on.

He needed that; he needed to know he was okay when there were days he could not see it for himself. Those times were few and far between the _good_ days he had. Training (and more importantly exercising the shield he had), was one of the highlights of his day.

The force field was a rare ability that garnered its power from the love Dean felt for those around him. Even though Dean could barely remember the first time he used it, he grew to appreciate its power. The one area he could not master yet, was how to wrap it around _himself_. He had made great strides in extending its power, but could not yet breach the invisible barrier that kept him from being secured in a fight.

He needed to figure it out. Badly.

Lying in the cold, hard box that was supposed to be his coffin, and the underground cellar that was supposed to be his grave, he could not comprehend the situation he was in. In a way, he supposed it was his own fault for getting too close to the enemy. For not realizing before it was too late that he was becoming friends with someone who would prove to be the eventual cause of his death. For the first time in his life, he felt the pull from the other side. Felt his energy disappear as quickly and surely as his ability to draw breath around the critical wounds.

The shield was no use, not when he could not even muster enough strength to enact it. Self-disgust and self-loathing was what he felt in that instant as his bound hands came in contact with the copious amount of blood on his stomach and chest. He needed help desperately, but he was not even sure his family knew where he was. It was a mistake not telling them where he was headed, and it was one he figured he would end up paying for with his life.

Somewhere in the room that was devoid of life other than the few insects that scurried above him, he heard the door to the cellar open. The light momentarily seeped through the cracks in the closed coffin. Hoping against hope it was his family coming to save him from certain death, he could feel his breath catch in a painful gasp when he saw the last person on the planet he wanted to see.

"Matt" was back from wherever he went in the few moments of peace Dean was allowed to have. His face, so like his friend but so unlike his in so many other ways, was relaxed into a victorious smile that told him his "friend" thought he won the battle. He may have, but Dean was not going to make it easy on him. He had no clue what he could do with his hands and feet tied, but he was determined not to die a weak death and instead fight for every breath he had.

His knife was still clasped tightly within the ghoul's hand. It was hard not to stare at the weapon when he knew the ghoul would use it on him sooner or later. There was nothing "Matt" could do to him that would hurt him worse than knowing his best friend was gone. That grief was potent in his mind, was what controlled his every response in that moment as he glared at him. The gag prevented him from speaking, but he would not be cowed into silence.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Dean. I thought," the ghoul said, twirling the knife between his fingers. "That maybe I could snag the _real_ culprit; the one responsible for the death of my family. When that didn't pan out, I had to resort to other options."

It was hard for Dean to ignore what he was saying. If he could have, he would have blocked his ears from absorbing any of what it was saying. Monsters made excuses, but it did not wash away the stain of their guilt. Innocent lives had been lost because the ghoul chose to veer away from its eating pattern, and go after defenseless people.

The ghoul decided to take the risk of removing the gag from his mouth. Inhaling a deep breath when the gag was gone, every breath only served to exacerbate the pain in his ribs. There was no doubt that some of them were broken. Breathing was hard with how excruciating his side was, but he was determined not to let it show how much pain he was in.

"I don't care what you say to me. You are nothing but a filthy, disgusting monster."

To Dean's satisfaction, he noted his comment had an effect on the ghoul. This ghoul was more restrained than others that he heard about. Instead of fighting him (or even worse, killing him), the ghoul chose to turn the other cheek to his comments. No matter if the ghoul was practicing self-control, it did not take away the natural desire for human food.

Bracing himself for the pain of being fed on again, he was shaken to notice the slight changes in the ghoul's appearance. Instead of sporting Matt's dark brown hair and slender build, he was starting to grow into the appearance of himself. The changes were subtle, but Dean knew the transition was happening.

"More disgusting than the people who purposefully hurt us? We weren't monsters, Dean. We fed on the dead, just like the rest of us. However, that wasn't good enough for your guardian. For Caleb. He killed my father without hesitation, and for that? For that I wanted blood. I wanted _his_ blood." The ghoul stabbed his knife just above Dean's head. "But then, I found out he was already in jail."

"So what? You decided to get even by taking someone he cares about?"

"Someone he loves, more like. I guess you could say that was the initial reason."

"Wonderful," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "You're just as twisted as I thought."

Dean's taunt did the one thing that he was afraid would happen again: The ghoul took that opportunity to choose another feeding site. Closing his eyes when he could feel the indescribable sensation of his skin being pierced like it was made of nothing but the finest silk, he could not contain the scream of pain. It was in a different place than his shoulder, but was on his other arm. Before too long, he knew he would lost the feeling in both of his arms.

With that horrific thought in mind, he pulled back from the ghoul as much as he could. When the ghoul lifted his head to capture his gaze in his relaxed one, Dean could see more of his facial features start to appear on this monster. It was unnerving to see it when he knew how wrong it was. Focusing on the sounds he could hear from above them, he hoped that meant his luck was about to take another change for the better.

When the ghoul put his head down for yet another bite, that was when the door to the cellar was thrown open and light flooded in. The ghoul barely had the chance to respond before he was thrown back by the shot that came from Jim's shotgun. Relief and a joy that was intoxicating, filled his entire being when he saw Bobby's face hover above his.

Never once did he think he would get the chance to see his family again when he was caught in the trap "Matt" set for him. Jim was still fighting the ghoul that wasted no time in recovering from the attack. It was hard to know he could do nothing to help Jim when he needed it, but his first thought was on getting out of the coffin. Luckily enough for him, Bobby was right on the ball and took out his knife to cut the rope.

"You need some help, son?" Bobby's voice was forcibly light for his sake, but Dean knew he was greatly disturbed by what he was seeing.

Dean nodded, beyond words at everything that happened in such a short amount of time. As he felt Bobby's knife come down on the ropes and saw away at them, he felt guilt permeate his soul at what was happening. It was hard not to feel that way when it was because he put his trust in his friend, and now he was in this situation.

Jim was fighting the ghoul, but from what little Dean could see of the battle, Jim was gaining the upper hand. The ghoul backhanded him, but that did nothing but spur his guardian on. Jim took a step back from the fight, and grabbed his machete. Once he had that weapon, the fight was won fairly quickly. Now that Jim had successfully killed the monster, he could focus his efforts on helping Dean.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, not able to stop the tears that came down his face.

"What are you talking about?" Jim demanded, looking stunned that he would even think about placing blame on himself.

"I never should have-"

"Stop," Bobby commanded. "You did nothing to earn this. Let's get you out of this-"

"Coffin?" Dean supplied, when Bobby was fighting to find the proper word for it.

Bobby's face paled when he heard that term for what Dean was in. Now that his hands and feet were free from their bounds, he felt more relaxed. It was incredibly claustrophobic to be in a tight space like that, and not be able to move.

"Dean," Jim said. "What happened to your shoulder?"

"He fed from me. Be careful moving me, I'm pretty sure he broke some ribs."

Jim nodded as he carefully tucked his arm under Dean's head and Bobby assisted by providing support under the rest of Dean's body. Moving him from the coffin was harder than it looked, and Dean was just glad when it was over. The sudden movement was tough on his wrecked body, and the gasp of pain that he could not control when his ribs and body gave a painful jolt, was very clearly hard on his family.

Once he was down on the ground where he could rest free from the confines of the coffin, his family had a better shot at looking at his body. The amount of blood he lost from what the ghoul did, was the least troubling part of it. His shoulder was numb, and he knew that could not be a good thing when he knew what happened to it. Gritting his teeth when Jim and Bobby started their exam on him, he could see Jim shake his head in horror at what was happening.

"How long have you been down here?" Bobby asked.

"A few hours, I think."

"We have to get him a hospital," Jim murmured.

The last place Dean felt like going was a hospital, but he knew he had no choice. The injuries he had were too extensive for his family to handle. The one concern he had was that the hospital would naturally wonder how he got injuries like that.

"How-how is Sam?" Dean asked, gasping when he moved the wrong way.

"He's okay," Jim said, squeezing his hand. "He's okay, Dean."


	11. Chapter 11

Having no choice but to witness someone he loved going through something like Dean was, was a hard thing for Jim to handle. Even though he knew Dean was safe when he went out with his friend to search for the ghoul, the hunter could not shake the feeling that questioned whether he really was or not. When the clock inched closer to midnight and Dean had not returned, Jim knew he had no choice but to act. Finding evidence of where Dean and Matt ventured after they left, was the biggest (and luckiest) break they could have had.

Nothing could have prepared him for climbing down the ladder, and seeing a ghoul that bore a striking resemblance to _Dean_. What bothered him more than that, was what the ghoul had been about to do before they interrupted. Dean, like usual, was the epitome of cool and collected when they freed him from the coffin. It was after they cut him from his bonds and laid him down on the ground, did he start to show any emotion when he thought about his brother.

It amazed Jim that Dean could have a gaping wound on his shoulder and have injuries to his stomach and chest, and still be upset about Sam's whereabouts. Supposing it should not have been that big of a shock when he knew how tight they were, he focused his efforts on helping Dean. The shoulder injury was the one he worried about the most when he took into account how serious it was. When he instructed Dean to move it, he could not. When he processed Dean's startling words that it was numb, he allowed himself to feel just a little bit of panic.

Ordinarily he resisted going to the hospital with the boys when they had an injury. It was simply too easy for the hospital to get the wrong idea and report them to CPS. Although it was standard protocol for the hospital to report any suspicious injuries a child came in with, he knew they had no choice but to take him. No matter what the consequences would be, his first thought was getting the twelve-year-old the medical treatment he needed.

Getting him out of the cellar proved to be the biggest hurdle once he made the decision to move toward the car. Helping Dean stand once he and Bobby ascertained what they would be doing, the child wobbled on his feet before regaining his balance. Steering him in the direction of the shaky ladder, he stood behind Dean while Dean took hold of the rungs and pulled himself up.

Glancing back at Bobby while he stayed behind Dean while he started the slow progression up the stairs, he could see a look of barely concealed concern in his eyes. Bobby was never one to show his emotions like he was, and Jim knew it was only when things were serious that he did it. Holding that troubling thought in the back of his mind, he put a steadying hand against Dean's back when he started to falter.

That reassurance seemed to be the only stabilization Dean needed to keep going. Jim knew when they were getting close to the top. The fresh blast of air hit his face like a fan, and the sounds of different animals was also a giveaway. Reaching above Dean to push open the door that blew shut, he was never more relieved to see the outside of something in his life.

The farmland they emerged on was the only residence in the area. The paddock that used to hold farm animals, stood empty. The front gate was open and swinging in the wind, but Jim barely paid it much attention. Helping Dean in the direction of their car, he was taken aback to see a look of exhaustion in his eyes that he never saw before.

Keeping one hand on Dean and the other on his gun, he knew there was likely nothing else there, but he was not willing to feel secure in that quite yet. Their car was parked on the side of the road where they could sneak through undetected, but he regretted parking it so far when he now had to get an injured Dean across the street. Trying to keep his footsteps silent as they walked across dewy grass and leaves, he knew Dean was trying to do the same thing.

Bobby was bringing up the rear. It helped to have someone behind them who would be the first line of defense if something happened. Not even able to think of something like that when all he wanted was to get to the nearest hospital, he heard something that made both he _and_ Dean, stop in their tracks. Looking around the stillness of the night for the formidable sound they heard, Bobby went a step further and carefully stalked around the edge of the property.

When Bobby abandoned his spot beside them to inspect the area for any threats, Jim could see the fear in Dean's eyes that his guardian was leaving them. Rubbing his back in soothing motions to incite any amount of calm in him that he could, he hesitantly started walking again. They could not afford to be caught up in something that would hinder them in their efforts to save Dean.

The car was close, but still too far. Shoving down the frustration he had that he would have to wait to get Dean the care he needed, he noticed Bobby start to come their way again. Whatever the noise was, it was gone now. Still on-guard against anything that could spring a surprise attack on them, he increased his slow pace. Not wanting to put more on Dean than was necessary, he tried to be calm for his sake.

The knife came from nowhere. Ducking down when the silver blade flew above their heads, barely missing the back of Dean's head, he lifted his head in time to see another ghoul make its way out from behind the cellar. This ghoul was one that was older in appearance and size. Pushing Dean to the ground and keeping him there, he grabbed the machete that was still on his belt.

This ghoul, like his friend, was angry and was brazen enough to do something reckless. Moving toward it at the same time it did, he met its advances with one of his own that cut him in the arm. Hardly deterred in his efforts when the ghoul roughly punched him, he slashed at the ghoul and did not stop until its head was detached from its body.

The attack happened quickly, and ended just as fast. When he helped Dean back up, it was not hard to see that he was upset about what happened. Shaking his head to let him know that they were all fine, they started walking again. He was overjoyed when their feet walked on concrete.

Reaching the car that hugged the edge of the property, he opened the backseat door and carefully helped situate Dean in the back. It was deeply disturbing to him that Dean offered no resistance to being helped. Usually, he despised having someone do something for him, even when he was sick. Hearing his feeble protests as he buckled him in, made his heart drop into his stomach.

Palming his face for a second before he ducked out and closed the door, he could see the sweat that shined on Dean's face. Going around to the driver's seat, he paused one moment to catch his breath. The sudden attack the ghoul performed, caught him off-guard and also exhausted him. When Bobby slid into the front seat and stowed his gun behind him, Jim caught the fatigue in his eyes.

Driving toward their motel to pick up Sam before they move on to the hospital, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw Dean staring out of the window. The kind of quietness that he was showing to his family, was almost more frightening than the actual wounds itself. Looking at his shoulder that was still bleeding around the wrap Bobby wound around it, he had no idea what to think of it or even if it could be saved or not.

The motel was only a few miles down the road. It saved them a much too long trip to retrieve Sam and get to the hospital. Although Jim initially fought the idea that they should leave Sam behind when they went to look for Dean, he was grateful he allowed Bobby to talk him into it when he considered the nightmare they walked into. The glow from their headlights fell on their window, and from it, Jim could see Sam's head peeking through the curtains.

Bobby was the one who got out to get Sam. In the few minutes it took for him to get Sam and get his things together, Jim took that chance to properly assess Dean. Twisting around so he would have a clearer picture of the twelve-year-old, he saw his face was pale as a ghost. It was in stark contrast to the color that was normally in it.

"Dean, it's going to be okay." Jim knew his words of comfort would likely only bring a small amount of peace to his soul.

"No, it's not."

Jim furrowed his brows in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I can't move my shoulder, Jim. It feels like it's not even there. How am I supposed to-" Dean stopped himself mid-sentence.

"How are you supposed to what?"

"Hug people, shoot something. _Hunt_."

That comment pierced through Jim like a sword. He supposed he never thought about what might happen if his shoulder was as badly damaged as he suspected it was. At the time, he processed the words Dean spoke to him about it feeling numb, but he never associated that with something happening to him that might be permanent. Closing his eyes, letting the few tears fall from his face at the idea of Dean having an injury like that, he inhaled a shaky breath.

No matter what might happen to Dean's shoulder, he was determined to be there for him every step of the way and help him defy the odds. What a doctor might diagnose as being incurable, could be curable for them. It was bad, and there was no denying that, but Jim was not so quick to assume the worst outcome. From looking at Dean, it was clear he already had.

"Dean, we haven't even seen a doctor yet. There could be a hundred different things wrong with your shoulder that can be fixed."

"And there could be a thousand different things wrong with it that _can't_ be fixed. You're not in my shoes, Jim. You don't know the half of what I'm feeling, what my shoulder feels like. It's not normal, and that's what scares the crap outta me."

Dean never communicated that he was feeling sick or impaired in any way. Hearing him talk like that and knowing that he meant what he said, was sobering for the pastor. Looking toward the motel to gather his thoughts (and also keep his eyes away from Dean), he saw Bobby and Sam walk out into the coldness of a chilly night. It was not hard to see the upset on Sam's face as he hurried himself over to the car so he could be with his big brother. Having Sam's support would most likely be the one thing that would serve to help Dean.

The lights momentarily came on in the car before Sam and Bobby closed the door. Jim wasted no time in bringing the car back out into the road. The hospital was only a few blocks from them, and for that he was pleased. The sooner he got Dean into emergency, the better. When Sam seated himself next to Dean, his big brother instantly seemed to relax and even smiled a little when Sam said something that made him laugh.

Watching Sam tend to Dean in the only way that he knew how, it was touching. Sam seemed to instinctively know that something was wrong with Dean and needed to be on his best behavior for him. Dean even went so far as to let Sam rub his arm, and lay his head on the good side of his body. The bond they shared was a deep one, and one that seemed to serve them well for so many years since the death of their parents.

"Dean, what happened to your shoulder?"

"The boogeyman got me."

" _Really_?" Sam said, his eyes widening in awe.

Dean nodded mock-seriously. "Totally. It was gooey and gory, and just plain nasty."

"Did you kill it?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Jim and Bobby were the heroes of this story."

Jim shook his head. "You did amazing yourself, Dean. Don't sell yourself short."

Dean did not respond to his comment. Staring straight ahead of him at the sign on the side of the road that advertised the hospital, he sighed deeply. There was nothing he liked less than a hospital. From the look on Dean's face when he saw the enormous hospital loom before them, he was sharing some of his same reservations.

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" Sam whispered, his eyes finally catching some of the blood that stained Dean's shirt on his other side.

"I can't move it. I don't really have any sensation on that side."

"Because of the boogeyman?" Sam asked, fully believing Dean's tale.

Dean did not answer as Jim pulled right up in front of the emergency room entrance. Giving Bobby a look that only he could appreciate, he jumped out of the car as soon as he stopped it and walked through the automatic doors into the front entrance of the hospital. It was busy, but Jim knew they would make Dean a priority with how hurt he was. The woman manning the front desk appeared to be one of the only people there, and he sympathized with her.

Explaining the situation to her, he saw understanding light up her soft blue eyes, before she paged the doctor on call. Looking out toward the car where Bobby was with the boys, he nodded to him to come in with them. Not to his surprise, the hospital was doing exactly as he predicted they would, and were making Dean one of their top cases for that night.

Bobby was able to pull Dean out of the car with relative ease. With Sam clinging to his good hand, they walked into the hospital in time for the doctor to come out of the trauma center with a stretcher. When they brought the bed out, Jim could see the look of horror eclipse Dean's face at the idea of having all this attention bestowed upon him. Giving him a look not to argue with them, he helped him lay down on the bed.

There was no time for the doctors to ask questions as they busied themselves with getting him into the back room. Hearing a nurse shout after him that he was not allowed in the trauma center, he ignored her and shouted at Bobby to stay back with Sam. Following the stretcher with its precious cargo on it, he could see only a glimpse of Dean's Metallica shirt. They wheeled him into the Trauma 1 unit. The more serious one.

Pulling the stretcher up next to the bed that was pulled against the wall, they were able to help Dean transfer without much of a hassle. Moving around them to hold Dean's hand, the child did not bother to pull away. Encouraged that Dean was okay with being offered comfort, he stayed by his side while the nurses all flooded into the room and started attaching various wires and tubes to him. Dean hated every minute of it, and he could not blame him.

Being powerless to stop his pain was one of the most difficult things for Jim. He was used to being able to provide the perfect remedy for him when he was sick. Having that control taken from him and put in the hands of someone he did not even know, was infuriating to him. Focusing on Dean's green eyes that seemed to shine even brighter when the nurses put a light directly above his head, he saw them squint in the sudden brightness.

"How did this happen?" A man voiced, sweeping into the room.

"Animal attack," Jim said.

The doctor frowned as he bent low to examine Dean's shoulder. Reaching for the medical scissors a nurse offered him, he quickly cut off Dean's shirt to expose his shoulder. Looking at it without the cover of the shirt, was nauseating for Jim. It made him want to do unspeakable things to the ghoul who did this to him. Forcing a calm look on his face for Dean's benefit, he squeezed his hand. His thumb rubbed Dean's wrist while the nurse inserted an IV into his other one.

"What kind of animal?"

"Rabid dog. Does it matter?" Dean ground out, clearly sick of the questions and implications that were coming from him.

The doctor pursed his lips, but did not comment further. "When did this happen?"

"About an hour ago, maybe less," Jim said.

"We need to get an X-ray on his shoulder immediately. You'll have to wait here while we do that. Will that be okay?"

No, it would _not_ be okay, but he was hardly in a position to argue with them. Nodding his head in consent of what they were doing, he gave Dean's hand one final squeeze before he let go. Witnessing them wheel Dean's hospital bed out of the room and down the hall, he could hardly believe where they were. In those few moments of solitary thought, it was impossible for him not to blame himself for what happened.

If he never let Dean go off by himself with Matt, he would never be in this spot. If he thought better about letting Dean hunt something that was dangerous, he would not be in X-ray, getting his shoulder looked at. So many "what-ifs" clouded Jim's line of thinking as he paced the room.

Hearing footsteps sounding from the direction of the waiting room, he mostly ignored it. It was not uncommon for a nurse to bring someone in from that room to be checked over. Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge between his nose and eyes as he thought about the unforgivable spot they were in. Even though the doctors _just_ took Dean back, his impatience was already starting to win over him. Without being there to make sure they were treating him well, he could not certain he was okay.

When the door opened behind him, he knew it was a doctor or nurse coming to ask him questions either about the accident or about his insurance. None of that mattered to Jim when he was trying to figure out how he would help Dean heal from the trauma of not only losing his friend, but also being attacked by the same thing that killed him. A calm night had quickly snowballed into one that he was sure he would never forget.

"Jim."

That was certainly _not_ a nurse or doctor coming to ask him a question. Spinning around faster than he thought was possible, he looked at Caleb as he moved further into the room. For one wild moment, Jim actually had the belief he was dreaming. There was no plausible explanation for why he would be there, and not in jail. Moving forward to hug his friend, he could see the pain in Caleb's eyes from what he undoubtedly knew was happening with Dean.

"How are you here? What happened-"

"I got off. I got the preliminary hearing this morning. Long story short, the judge sided with us."

"I can't believe you're here."

He really could not when he expected to not see Caleb until they returned to Minnesota. Having him there with him, was a support he never counted on having. The impersonal setting of a hospital room would have to do for his reunion with the boys. Thinking about Dean and how happy he would be to have him there, was what warmed Jim's heart.

"What happened to Dean?" Caleb demanded. "I talked to Bobby before I got here, but he didn't really say all that much."

"It was the ghoul," Jim said, heaving a sigh. "It got Matt. It tricked Dean."

"Where is he now?"

"In X-ray."

Caleb nodded. "We'll figure this out."

* * *

It was difficult for Caleb to keep his eyes open around the exhaustion he could feel pour through him after the harrowing morning he had. The last outcome he _ever_ expected was to be released from police custody at the conclusion of the hearing. Thanks to the judge having a sound mind, he was let go before the case had the chance to progress further. The worry in the back of his mind was when he factored the startling realization that he might _still_ face prosecution if new evidence ever came to light.

Pushing that to the back of his mind until he absolutely had to, he walked with Dawn across the expansive parking lot toward her car. His had been impounded when he was arrested, and he had no clue where he could go to reclaim it. Settling back against the soothing feel of her seats, he thought about what it would be like to reunite with his family. None of them would be anticipating it, and that was the sweetest thing for him to think about.

Understanding the pressing need to see Sam and Dean when he had been separated for over a week from them, he disregarded his usual ritual in going to a new location, and instructed Dawn to take him to the airport. No matter how fast he drove to get to Carthage, it would still take him most of the day and then some to reach them. He hated flying and always had, but he was willing to make an exception for this one time. Luckily enough for him, the airport was willing to accommodate him and get him on a flight.

What would have taken him over ten hours to drive, only took a fraction of that time. Resting against the seats in the airplane, he tried to breathe through the nervousness he could feel. The thought of being 'out of control' in a setting where anything could happen, was unsettling for him. What soothed him was being able to pull out a picture of his two boys, and know that he was going somewhere good. Closing his eyes, he hummed song after song until he heard the announcement come through that they would be landing.

Readying himself for the turbulence, he looked out the window and saw the runway rapidly approaching. When he was able to push past his natural fear of flying, he was astounded at the sights that he would not have otherwise been able to appreciate. Everything that once looked huge to him, now looked like tiny specks in a vast land. When the airplane wheels touched down, he could finally breathe easy in knowing that he made it.

Once he safely left the intimidating airplane, his next order of business was to get a reliable means of transportation. It was no easy task when he was in a new place, but thanks to his luck that somehow managed to turn around for him just in time, he got a rental car. Reaching for his phone once he was on the road and had some idea of where he was, he punched in the number for Bobby's phone.

The hunter rarely picked it up and it was something his family loved to tease him about. Hoping he would this time, he was pleasantly surprised when he heard his voice on the other end.

"Caleb? What the-"

"Hey, Bobby," Caleb said, scrubbing his fingers through his eyes to get them to wake up a little.

"What are you doing out? I thought you would be stuck in that place until-"

Caleb shook his head, even though he had no way of knowing it. "I got my prelim hearing early."

"So I take it some judge had his head screwed on right?"

"You would be right."

Driving through the town was hard for him. He was usually very good with direction and was able to find his way fairly quickly, but everything around him made no sense. He knew it was his own mind working against him when he had been through Carthage before. The town was right close to where he landed, and he was grateful for that.

"Listen," Bobby said, and Caleb could hear his voice take on a considerably tougher edge. "It's a good thing you're out."

"Why? What happened?" Switching lanes, one hand clasped on the steering wheel, and the other on his phone, Caleb tried to keep calm around the panic he could start to feel creep up.

"The ghoul...it...it hurt Dean. _Badly_."

The joy that Caleb could feel assault his mind and body after being released that morning, was now giving way to devastation. A ghoul was not a monster that would take him lightly. It would want revenge, and that was exactly what it did. Not able to control the tears that fell from his face at the thought of what it did to him, he tried to see the road through his grief.

"How bad?"

"Bad enough to require a hospital. I'm not sure how bad it is yet. Jim's been back with him in the trauma unit."

About a thousand different thoughts slammed through Caleb. All he wanted was to be there for not only Dean, but for Sam. He could only imagine how the child must have felt in knowing that his big brother was in a bad situation like that. What kept him from being able to embrace them like he wanted, was the distance that was still between them.

Urging the car to go faster, he found he did not care about too many traffic laws while he worked to get to the hospital. Stopping only to make sure there were no cars coming at the red light, he promptly blew it and drove right through.

"I'm in Carthage right now. I just got here. I should be there in a few minutes or so. How's Sam holding up?"

"He's scared, but he's okay. I just went and grabbed something for him in the cafeteria."

"Good. I'll be there soon."

Hanging up, he tried to control the frantic thoughts he could feel go through him. The last thing he expected was to be faced with something happening to Dean. The child was an excellent hunter, and was able to tackle some of the bigger spirit hunts his family went on. Hearing that he had been seriously wounded in a fight with the ghoul, was crushing to him.

The town was small, but it was still too big for him when he thought about Dean being in the hospital. Slowing down when he reached a residential neighborhood that was close to the hospital, it was not easy to ignore the curious stares (and glares) of some of the people who saw him speeding. Paying no mind to them, he pulled out into the intersection again and saw the hospital sign loom before him.

Grateful that he arrived in a reasonable amount of time, he pulled in and found a parking spot up close to the front entrance. Sitting in his car and bracing himself for the chaos that would be waiting for him when he walked in, he grabbed his things and got out. The air was chilly; it did nothing to affect him when his mind was on a hundred different things.

Walking through the automatic doors when they swung open to admit him, he had a brief view of the front desk and the woman behind it, before he saw Sam and Bobby from the waiting room on the left. Moving toward them, Sam immediately bolted from his chair and sprang into his arms. Wrapping his arms around him, he could feel tears cloud his vision. Sam was clinging to him as though he was holding on for dear life.

Rubbing Sam's back when Sam laid his head on his shoulder, he looked at Bobby and saw the pain in his eyes from what happened. Slowly shaking his head, he turned and sat with Sam. It felt good to sit and not do anything else for a minute. Sam was still curled in his lap, but was getting ready to get down. From the shocked look on his face, it was apparent Bobby did not tell him he was coming.

"How are you here?" Sam demanded.

"I got out. Dawn, my lawyer, she worked a miracle."

"That's good," Sam said, nodding seriously. "Dean's hurt-"

"I know," Caleb said, pulling him into another hug.

"I want to see him, but Bobby said I might have to wait for a little while."

"Yeah, I think that might be a good idea, Sammy."

Caleb had no clue what horrors awaited him when he made his way back to the trauma center. From what Bobby described to him, he knew his wounds were nothing to laugh about. He was not at all sure he wanted Sam to be exposed to Dean being hooked up to various tubes and wires, and have to know that it came from something bad.

Sam's face fell the instant he heard Caleb's disappointing words. Giving him another hug, he got up and walked back into the trauma unit. He could hear several of the nurses and doctors trying to get his attention, but he simply ignored them. Soon enough they would get the message that he was with Dean, and was his family. The trauma unit was not terribly busy that late night. It made his job of finding the correct room a lot easier.

When Caleb saw Jim's back, he knew he found the right room. His friend was standing away from him, and seemed to be lost in thought. It was not difficult to know what it was about. Staring at the room that should have had Dean in the center of it, he was confused to not find him there. Looking around as though he might have missed him, he saw no one but the nurses as they rushed from room to room.

Stepping into the room, he saw Jim tense but did not respond. When he announced his presence, it did not take long for the pastor to turn around and close the distance that separated them. Embracing him, feeling his heart crack in his chest when he considered the predicament Dean was in, he could see a very similar pain reflected in Jim's kind eyes. The hunter had been forced to handle the bulk of what was wrong with Dean, by himself.

Dean was in X-ray, and even though Caleb assured Jim that they would "figure it out" he had no clue how. From what Jim told him, his shoulder was messed up and he lost feeling in it. Even without the vital aid of understanding physical health from his years spent learning the tricks of the trade from Bobby, he knew it was bad. A shoulder injury was notorious for taking a long time to heal, and even more so, was highly delicate.

Leaning against the wall, not able to sit still if he wanted to, he waited for them to bring Dean back. Wondering how he would react to seeing him, brought a small grin to his face. At the very least, he could bring a smile to the child's face and relieve some of the tension in the room.

Hearing the doctor's wheel him back after they finished with his X-rays, he moved away from the wall and went to stand by the door where Jim was. At first, all he could see was the end of Dean's bed a figure underneath the covers that was supposed to be him. When they repositioned his bed up against the wall, it was then he could see his face for the first time, and where Dean could see his.

Shock was the number one emotion Caleb could color Dean's eyes, before he smiled. He was in pain; it was very obvious to anyone who knew him well like Caleb did. Stepping up to his bedside, he reached out a hand and gently palmed Dean's face, before Dean reached out his good arm to hug him. Carefully avoiding the tubes and wires attached to him, he leaned down and hugged him as carefully as he could.

When he pulled back, Caleb could see the frustration in Dean's eyes that he could not use his other arm to hug him. Getting a view of his shoulder for the first time, it was horrific. His shoulder was covered in blood and was soaking through the bandages the doctor's wrapped around it. Looking at Jim when he saw Dean's struggle, Jim stepped up to his bad side and gently lifted his arm and put it around Caleb's neck so he could hug him more completely.

That seemed to calm him down while he enjoyed that moment. Carefully letting Dean go when Dean removed his good arm from around him, Caleb took care in handling his bad arm. Letting it drop against the soft blanket that was over him, he saw Dean wince in pain. Drawing up a chair beside him, Dean's eyes never left his. Giving him a small smile, he held his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"How are you here?" Dean choked. "I thought that you would be stuck there until-"

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "I got out early. I'm so glad I did."

"I missed you."

"I missed you more," Caleb teased.

Dean shook his head. "Not possible."

It was then Dean stunned him by shedding a single tear that seemed to say _everything_ without saying much. Not even able to comprehend what he must have gone through with the ghoul, he wiped the tears from his eyes and stayed by his side. Jim said something about going to check on Sam, before he left the room.

"Hey, bud. It's just you and me. What's going on?" Caleb inquired, stroking Dean's hair.

"Matt's dead."

"From the-"

Dean nodded. "Yes. I was so stupid! I thought he was really Matt, and it was nothing but a trap."

"It's not your fault, Dean. Don't even let your mind tell you any different."


	12. Chapter 12

Epilogue

Grief was a nasty beast that managed to exploit the most sensitive parts of you. It was a feeling that most everyone goes, through in their life, and is forced to cope with. For Dean, coping with Matt's death, meant acknowledging what happened to him, and that was a tricky road he could not cross.

It had been a week since he returned home from the hospital after spending the last several days learning how to use his arm again. The official report from the doctor was that he sustained "significant" damage from the animal attack. Far from wanting to remain captive in a rehab center, his family agreed to bring him home after getting detailed instructions from the doctor.

Being home was good; it distanced him from the trauma of Missouri and forced him back into his routine. Now that he had a shoulder injury to contend with, and a burst eardrum, his training had been altered. No longer did he venture downstairs for the sole purpose of having fun.

Now it was all about regaining strength in his arm. That was no easy task when he could barely move it. Hardly undeterred from trying his hardest, he pushed himself beyond what he thought he would be capable of when he first started. The progress was slow, but it was the small milestones that made the difference to him.

Instead of worrying about whether or not he could shoot a far-off target, his main goal became lifting his arm high enough to catch something. One of his favorite activities to do, was throwing a tennis ball with Caleb. It was one of the lower-intensity workouts and one he particularly enjoyed.

Walking downstairs for the start of one of his workouts, he noted Caleb was already down there waiting for him. Walking was difficult when he had to think about his arm. Although the doctor wanted him to wear a sling, he refused. He would not wear one when he did not need it, and neither of his family argued with him.

Caleb smiled when he saw him; his eyes sparkling with a gratitude that Dean was alive. With how touch-and-go it was, Dean recognized how he might have felt. Giving him a one-armed hug, he grinned when he felt Caleb's arms squeeze him back.

"How are you doing, bud?"

Dean nodded slowly, pushing the tears from his eyes with a mental shove. "I'm crappy, but I'll be okay."

"Matt?" Caleb guessed, reaching his hand out to rub Dean's shoulder.

"Yes."

"We haven't really talked a lot about him-"

"It's because there's nothing to say. He died, and I almost died."

Caleb took a second to think about what he was saying. One of the most wonderful parts of their bond, was when Caleb was able to ascertain what Dean was going through because of it.

"I think there's _a lot to_ say. I just don't think you're ready, Dean, and that's okay."

The child supposed that could be true. He had plenty that he _wanted_ to say about Matt's death, but it was impossible to form the words for it. Sitting down on the sofa on top of some oddy-shaped sofa cushions, he yelped in surprise when they moved. Jumping back, he took a second to catch his breath, before he tossed the cushions at his brother.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying every second of teasing his big brother. Grinning when he recovered, he reached for his water bottle to take a sip. Instead of the coolness of the water meeting his parched throat, he was greeted to Sam stealing it from him.

"Dude, seriously?"

Sam nodded. "I was thirsty."

"Uh-huh," Dean said, entirely unconvinced.

When Sam got that look in his eyes, the look that most often spelled trouble, he could not duck out of the way in time before Sam tossed the water straight from the bottle.

Defending himself on instinct, he could not believe it when he felt his shield go around **him.** How many times had he practiced with nothing to show for it? How many times did he worry endlessly about not performing that one task?

Now he had.

Giving Caleb a high-five, he was quite certain he had never felt such a wide array of emotion before. It was both good _and_ bad. For right that moment, life was as close to perfect as it could be.

Of course it would not last. Nothing ever did in their lives. The only question that would remain for all of them, would be how they would handle the next hurdle to come their way.


End file.
